Cold War Kids
by Narcolepcy375
Summary: Russia and America have always had an- interesting relationship.  Ivan decides it would be beneficial to become allies again, but after their history...can they?  fluff & angst.
1. The Last American Shuttle

_Second try at a Cold War fic. It's surprisingly a difficult topic to write on. I'm such a huge fan of the Cold War…but it's hard not to just write angst about it._

_I should really be proofreading my book…wasting time~ _

_Also, i'm still makin this a songfic. so, each chapter will have a song. _

_This one's **'A Fine Evening For a Rogue- by Lydia' **But, you don't have to listen to it while reading. It might give the chapter the wrong tone...i don't know. Just read. _

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><p>July 5, 2011<p>

World Conference- London, England

America was still in his chair, head cradled in his hands. England was giving some sort of presentation on taxing planes traveling between continents. The American's hair was unkempt, he had horrible jet lag, his coffee had gone cold while left untouched, and his head hurt.

A hand fell onto his shoulder, thinking he was asleep. "This is important, amigo…" Spain said gently. "You should listen to the tea sucker."

Alfred glanced up at England for a second. The Brit was talking economics, taxation, federal debts, and budget cuts. A trembling hand reached out for the mug of black coffee. It was too early for this.

"Are you well, America?" Spain wondered, his accent still sounded thick even on such a short phrase.

America ran a hand up his face, dragging it through his hair. He didn't even have time for a shower this morning. He'd boarded a three A.M. flight to London this morning to be at this conference.

He'd been greeted by England himself, but Iggy was always a bitch around this time of year. Alfred didn't want to deal with it after the night he'd had.

He sighed, setting his coffee cup back down. He vaguely knew what the meeting was about. Europe's economy was in trouble just like his. They wanted to tax tourist airlines to land in their airports. But, if they did that, the taxes would be passed to the passengers and tourism would slow. There were always tradeoffs to these things. Alfred understood this by now.

"I'm just tired…" he said, finally.

Antonio sat back in his seat. "Well, amigo…you _should_ be. Yesterday was a big day in your country, am I right?"

"Independence day…yep. My birthday," America said, his voice lacking its usual luster.

"Was it good?" the Spaniard said curiously. "You do not sound very pleased…"

"Leave the guy alone, bastard!" Romano said, punching his arm. "He's tired!"

Spain winced, holding his shoulder. He glanced over at southern Italy and smiled. "I'm just worried, mi tomate… He'd usually so energetic after his birthday," Spain said carefully.

"It's America, what could be wrong with him?" Romano said incredulous. Nothing was _ever_ wrong in _America_.

"Exactly why I'm worried, Lovino…" Spain said, tone becoming somber.

"I'm fine guys, just listen to Iggy," Alfred insisted.

"Ve? Something's wrong with America?"

"No! He just said he was fine, listen to England."

"I 'ave never seen him sit still for dis long. Vat is de matter Amerika?"

"Germany just said he was fine, aru! This is important!"

"Why don't we let _him_ answer?" France finally reasoned. "What is wrong mon ami?"

"It's nothing guys. I'm just tired," Alfred insisted. "Oh, but I'm not paying taxes to have tourists come to Europe."

"Whore!"

"Objecion!"

"Ve~!"

"Why?"

The room erupted again. This happened almost every month.

"Why should I pay taxes to have my people come spend their money in your countries?" Alfred reasoned.

"It costs _us_ money to _run_ these international flights!" England retorted.

"Half of which are flown from _my _airports. I'm _not_ paying to have them _land_. If you make me pay, I just _won't_ land, and everyone will use parachutes!"

"You're an idiot!"

"Shut up! It would work! Everyone loves skydiving anyway," America said.

"Do you even _hear_ yourself?"

The American rolled his eyes, taking a sip of coffee before standing up. Everyone else already was anyway. But then again, everyone _else_ was already in a brawl. "You _want_ me to get all political up in here? Cause I can think of at least three international treaties and policies that this will break. I'll make this a legal thing!"

"Really?" England said skeptically. "What're you going to do? Sue me?"

"Maybe!"

"Amerika?" a voice said behind him, interrupting their argument.

Alfred turned, almost falling over onto Russia. He looked up about three inches to meet his creepy purple eyes. "What?" he demanded.

"I heard you vill no longer be sending shuttles into space?" he said, flashing what could've been a wince, but Alfred took as a smirk.

America felt the instant _need_ to smack it off his face. He'd run out of money to _fund_ any more shuttles. It wasn't his fault that _his_ economy was in the toilet. The thought of it reminded him how sick he'd felt last year. He _still_ hadn't fully recovered yet.

"Why do you care?" he spat at the Russian.

The room went silent. Everyone grew tense, hoping this wasn't going to be blow out of proportion again. "I do _not_ care, Amerika. I just find it curious," Ivan responded calmly.

Alfred glared. The Russian was many things, but he was _not_ a good liar. "You think it's _funny_ don't you?" he snapped, fists clenching.

Ivan's eyes went wide and innocent-like. He shrunk back, looking frail and harmless. America hated _that_ the most.

Russia and America had always had a…_complicated_ relationship, as Alfred put it.

They had been great friends in the eighteen hundreds. Russia's tsars loved visiting the young America and both countries enjoyed sharing a glass of wine and complaining over England's latest bullshit. They'd gone hunting for buffalo once or twice and Ivan visited often to enjoy America's weather and warmth. It was in America that Russia had first seen sunflowers, and he instantly decided he loved them.

Ivan had been there to comfort Alfred during his Civil War when America was being split in two. It had been excruciatingly painful and maddening. It had left America weak and ill for decades afterward. Ivan couldn't provide military aid to a country fighting with itself, but he was there to support _Alfred_.

The two countries were as close as allies could be without being…one. Alfred had mixed feelings about this time after everything that had happened. He'd like to believe that they had only been allies during their time of benevolence. But, he knew they'd been more…how much he couldn't be sure of. After everything that had happened between them, he tried to block their whole relationship out of his mind.

Then, World War I came and Russia's Tsar system was falling. Lenin helped lead the government back to some structure in communism, and all was well for awhile until Lenin's sudden death. After that, Russia got a new boss that…America didn't really…like.

The end of World War II brought nuclear power to the United States and Ivan was furious. What had America suffered; what experience could he boast about to claim this new technology? He was a _child_. He was undeserving. So, Russia created nukes of his own.

The Cold War had been a…bump in their relationship, to put it lightly. Russia was even colder than before and even _less_ trusting of anyone. He'd thought that America would support his new government now that he finally had some structure instead of the anarchy of the Russian Revolution. Russia felt betrayed and America was appalled.

Stalin wanted China to become part of the Soviet Union, and worked with China's boss to hook the two countries up. China and Russia did not just become allies, they 'became one'. Not only did America see this as a threat, with the spread of communism, but he also was extremely conflicted about the entire relationship. China was supposed to be _his_ ally and trading partner. And Russia…just what the hell was Russia to him anymore? He felt oddly cheated, and somehow…jealous. Not of China's new government, but of…something else.

All they'd ever done since then was argue. Bickering and name-calling was a regular. Each country had its own brand of jokes, and the propaganda against each other lasted among both peoples. Americans were viewed as fat, glutinous idiots in Russia, and American movies always depicted Russians as horrible, gritty, uncaring monsters.

In summery…they didn't get along well anymore.

"I do not think it is funny…" Ivan said dismissively.

Alfred crossed his arms over his chest. Of _course_ his nemesis didn't find his current economic failure funny. "Then wipe that ugly smirk off your face," he demanded.

"As soon as you stop making that face at _me_…" Ivan replied coldly.

"I ain't makin a face!"

"So, you always look that way?"

Alfred was tired of words. He swung his arm up to punch the Russian in the jaw. They could fight it out _without _words and it would go _much_ quicker. He felt the bones under his knuckles and it was somehow gratifying. He'd wanted to sock him in the face for _so_ long…

Ivan fell back, holding his jaw gingerly. He stood straight, glaring daggers into the slightly younger country. Alfred just smirked, removing Texas from his face to avoid breaking them. This could be fun…

"You are an idiot…" the Russian said calmly, wrapping his scarf looser so he could tuck his bruised chin beneath the folds of it. He turned and left the conference room, staggering slightly on his way out.

"What? No fight?" Alfred said, disappointed.

"Why would you _want_ to?" England demanded behind him. "That man is a giant."

Alfred shrugged. "It's _just_ Ivan…" he said calmly, still staring after the Russian. It wasn't in his nature to walk away from a challenge like that…

China walked up behind Alfred, expression shocked. "Maybe…you should talk to him. I've never seen him make that expression… And…did anyone notice? He seems…weak."

"What're you talkin about?" America demanded. "He was just smirkin at me like I was a kid that tripped into mud or somethin. Cause he's an asshole."

"China is right, America," Lithuania said carefully. "Mr. Russia never turns down a fight after the first punch's been thrown. He didn't look so well… I'll go check on him…"

Toris was trembling as he said this. And, while Alfred might be bad at reading the mood people were in, he could tell that Toris was still extremely wary of Ivan. He'd been one of the countries that had been trapped in Ivan's house during the time of the Soviet Union.

America felt bad, letting the small nation go face his previous captor. So, being the hero that he is, Alfred put a hand on Toris' shoulder, pressing down lightly to still him. "I'll talk to him…" he offered.

Toris nodded in agreement. It was probably best to let the _superpowers_ talk…

So, Alfred grabbed his mug of coffee and followed Ivan out of the conference room. It was a hot, muggy day in London. As usual, it was raining. "God, I love Iggy's weather," Alfred mumbled sarcastically. "Now, where'd that damn Ruski go?" he wondered aloud.

He searched the crowd of umbrellas. Among all the short, bushy browed British people, it shouldn't have been hard to find a six-foot Russian with long scarf-tails. Alfred was starting to suspect that Ivan had already called a taxi when he noticed a tall man in a long black raincoat. He had such pale blonde hair that it _had_ to be Ivan.

Alfred jogged up behind him, rehearsing what he might say in his head. Most were just witty insults, but there was an apology or two thrown in there somewhere if he really searched. He laid a hand on the man's arm to get his attention, but the moment he touched him, the Russian sunk to the ground.

"Ivan?" America said, crouching down and lifting the taller man's arm. He didn't respond, so Alfred rolled him over onto his back, leaning in close to make sure he was breathing. People were already starting to stop and ask questions.

Ivan's breath was slow and soft, but it was still there. Alfred acted quickly, pulling the Russian up to a standing position by both arms. He lifted the taller man over his shoulder, fireman style, still holding his mug of coffee in one hand. Thank God that America was still strong despite his bad economy.

Alfred quickly considered taking him back inside to the other countries, but for some reason, he got the feeling that would end badly. The other countries seeing Ivan in a moment of weakness would ruin the Russian's image to the others. _Alfred_ had already seen Russia at his weakest before, so this was nothing for _him_.

Crossing the street quickly and pushing the unconscious Russian into the passenger seat of his car, Alfred rushed into his Honda Civic. People who had seen the collapse were already crowding around the car curiously.

America floored it out of there, speeding through traffic and out of London. What the hell was wrong with Ivan?

He'd been out cold for ten minutes already. Alfred glanced over at the silent Russian. If the situation hadn't been so iffy, he would have taken some time to just laugh at how _cute_ Ivan looked when he was sleeping. Something as ominous and darkly omnipresent shouldn't be _cute…_it was just_ wrong…_

"Okay, focus…" Alfred reminded himself aloud. He was still exhausted, and staring at someone sleeping was going to make him fall asleep himself if he wasn't careful. He took a sip of coffee and turned on his radio. It was still sort of dark outside. Despite how early it was, it was hot, even in the car, so he turned on his air conditioning.

It was one of those grayish purple mornings, Alfred noted as they drove through English countryside to get to the airport. It was an hour drive to the airport where Al's jet was landed, but Ivan was out for the entire ride.

As Alfred pulled in to the airport, he parked his car for a minute to call his pilot on the cell phone and tell him he was leaving early. The ramp lowered from his jet and Alfred drove his car directly up into the back of the plane.

The pressure locks sealed and Alfred opened his door, walking around to the passenger side to unbuckle the unconscious Russia. He carried him over his shoulder into the loft.

A flight attendant was waiting for him, not expecting her country to walk in with the unconscious Russia slung gracelessly over his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She stared at America.

"Well?" he demanded. "I'll need a thermometer, a blanket, some tea, and…um…what else do you do for a sick person? Do we have a medic on board?"

She stared at her host, unsure what to make of this situation. "I'll be right back," she replied, giving up.

Alfred shifted Ivan over his shoulder and set down his coffee to free his other hand. As he dropped the taller man down into both arms, holding him bridal-style, he realized how wet the Russian had made his shoulder.

"Goddamnit, Ruski!"

He stood the Russian up to remove his long black raincoat before letting him fall limply back into a plush leather recliner. The Russian's head lolled off to the side. Alfred sighed and shucked off his own coat. He folded it up and tossed it indolently into the corner.

The flight attendant came back with a medic who immediately went to Ivan and began taking out tools to find what was wrong with him.

"We're going to take off in just a minute, sir. So, if you'd take a seat…?" the female attendant suggested. Alfred nodded and obliged, sitting across from Ivan in an identical recliner, buckling a strap over his lap.

The doctor strapped Ivan down and stood up. "His heart rate is normal and his breathing is slow because of inflamed sinuses. So, I'm going to say his weakness and fainting are because he has the flu. He'd probably had it for a day or two, but the symptoms haven't been bad yet. I doubt he's noticed it. It'll only get worse from here though so, I would keep him quarantined from people for awhile to be sure… Also, he's got a nasty bruise on his jaw. Do you know anything about that?"

"Ah, um… I'm not really the one who takes care of him," Alfred said, diverting that last question. "So…um…is he okay to be flying? I wanted to take him back to Russia…"

"He should be fine to fly, but we don't have clearance to go to Russia right now. We have to take him back to the states."

Alfred hesitated. Ivan…in…America? Oh…God, help us. "Alright, fine…" he replied finally.

The doctor exited the loft, taking his briefcase with him. Alfred glanced over at Ivan again. What was he going to tell the other countries? Ivan had obviously been feeling sick all day, now that he thought about it. For one thing, he hadn't fought back when America had punched him in the jaw. That was proof enough. And, he'd been pretty placid at the meeting…

But, Ivan hadn't said anything about any discomfort, so he obviously hadn't wanted anyone to know. So, Alfred couldn't tell everyone that he was sick if he didn't want it to be public. But, he'd have to tell them _something_…

The plane shook a little as they speed down the runway and took off. Alfred barely noticed the turbulence of it anymore. It was the jetlag afterwards and the changing time zones all the time that got to him.

Jeez, less than twelve hours ago, he'd been breaking up a brawl that had started during his birthday fireworks. For some reason, his people couldn't be patriotic without getting violent. It always had a way of ruining the fun of his birthday; yet for some reason, he still looked forward to it all year.

When he got home, he was supposed to have a meeting with his boss to discuss this new stimulus plan. He had very little faith in it. It hadn't worked _at all_ since it had been passed. What he needed was more jobs and fewer taxes…that would be _great_. Where was Roosevelt when you needed him?

"Amerika?"

Alfred's head snapped up. Ivan was awake, fiddling with the straps of his belts. "Hey, leave those alone…we're not at the right altitude yet…" Alfred said calmly.

"Why am I here?" Russia demanded.

"Cause you passed out in the street. You're lucky I saved your ass."

"_So_ heroic," Ivan said sarcastically.

"Damn right!" Alfred snapped seriously. "I just tossed ya over my shoulder all fireman style and carried you to my car!"

"Dat is vhy we are on a jet?"

"Oh… no, that's cause I drove us to my jet…" he glanced at Russia carefully. Maybe it would be easiest to just tell him. "I'm taking you back to America…"

"What?" Ivan said, unbuckling himself completely and standing up, going for the door.

"Sit down! We're already in the air!"

"Turn de plane around!"

"Why?" Alfred demanded. "Look, we can't turn around. You're sick and you should be kept away from people for awhile. I think you caught the flu in England. That…or…?"

"My economy is fine!" Ivan snapped.

Often times, countries would only get sick when their people, economy, or government was suffering. But, they could also catch viruses without affecting their country.

"Alright! I believe you!" Alfred said defensively. "But, we can't take you home. We don't have clearance to go to Russia and I wouldn't have been allowed on your plane…"

Ivan was glaring again. Alfred winced. Sometimes he wished that Ivan would just put on that happy mask for him too, but when he considered seeing Ivan wearing a façade all the time and lying to him…it seemed _worse_. So, he smiled at the glare.

"I'm sorry, man… But I couldn't just leave you, okay? The doctor says that you'll only get worse from here, so I'll take care of you for awhile…"

"I would rather die," Ivan snapped coldly.

"Alright…I'm…sor…I'm sorry for…punching you," Alfred choked. Oh, _God_ how he _hated_ apologizing.

"You are a fool."

"I thought you were picking on me!"

"Vhat vould de point of dat be?"

Alfred shrunk back an inch, realizing how tough it was not to point out Ivan's obvious accent. "Well, I do it to _you_ all the time…" he admitted.

"And you are an idiot. Vhy vould I try to be like _you_?"

Alfred winced and tried to restrain himself from exploding over minor insults. "Okay…" he ground out. "I know we hate each other…but, let's just try to get through this without killing each other. I'll help you if you just…_let_ me."

"I vill not," the Russian said stiffly. "I am _not_ sick. I vas simply tired. I just decided to take a nap."

"In the middle of the street," Alfred finished skeptically.

"Exactly."

"Bullshit."

"Nyet! I am not sick," Ivan insisted, but his body rebelled against his lies and he was suddenly overtaken by a dry fit of coughing.

Ignoring his earlier instructions to stay seated, Alfred unbuckled and rose to his feet. He knelt next to the Russian and put a palm up to his forehead. Ivan shivered under the touch. "God! You're burning up…" the American mumbled.

"Vat do you mean?"

"You've got a fever, Ruski," Alfred answered. Ivan never caught on to the American's hyperboles.

"Dat is impossible. It is freezing in here."

Alfred stared at him incredulously. "You've never had the flu before, have you?"

"Nyet…when I get sick it is much worse than your petty _flu_," the Russian replied coldly, trying to clear his throat which was suddenly very sore.

"Well, I had a _fierce_ flu back in the 30s when I had that depression. You've got _all _the symptoms. But, I know what ta do, so don't worry!"

"Vhy does dat make me vorry even vorse?"

Alfred just ruffled his hair, straightening up and snatching his coat off the floor. He leaned over the Russian, tucking the corners under his arms and fixing the buckles he'd undone. "First thing is to sweat out the cold fever," he said, smiling. "We'll get you some antiviral medication when we get to my home."

"I still hate you," the Russian grumbled.

"I hate you more," Alfred assured him. "But, what kinda hero would that make _me_ if I just left you? If the other nations saw you like this…"

"I vill not thank you for this…"

"Don't expect me to accept it if you _do_."

"I vill not make this easy," the Russian continued sleepily.

"It'd be no fun if you did…" Alfred said, grinning. He stood up and sat back down in his own recliner. Ivan's head lolled off to the side again and his breathing slowed. The rest of the flight went by pretty silently…

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><p><em>Soooo…I think I'm going somewhere with this one, but I don't know yet. It somehow feels like i'm coping that story, Blue Lips. I swear, I don't intend to copy anyone. <em>

_I didn't plot this one out like I did my South Park fic. I hope I can do something with this._

_Review Plz?_


	2. The Southern kinda Hospitality

_I read somewhere that the Honda Civic is the car that's made with the __**most**__ American parts. So, I figured that Alfred would drive a civic even though it's not the most glamorous car…_

_And, I didn't make Ivan a psycho or a complete softie. It seems like everyone puts him in the extremes. But, I think that, with Alfred, he'd act more like a normal person that just hates the other cause they hate each other so much they know everything about each other…right? So, they can be comfortably in hate . For now~ _

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><p>Alfred was a hardcore American in <em>every<em> way; especially considering the fact that he _was_ America. So…he understandably got bored easily. Instant gratification had become such a major part of his culture that he couldn't sit still for more than thirty minutes without a television or computer or _something_.

The plane was finally at an altitude where he could roam about the cabin with ease. He sat up, rising to his feet and pacing. There was a flat-screen television, but it only got the news and he was growing sick of re-watching the brawl at his fireworks.

Finally, becoming too bored to contain himself, he buzzed in the flight attendant. She dashed in, carrying a tray of empty wine glasses from the 'meeting' his government officials were having in the room next to him.

"Hey, could you bring in some markers and paper and…um…I dunno…some clay."

She stared at him. "You're bored, aren't you?"

"Please?"

"Why don't I just go get you your laptop? You don't need to start another war over drawing mustaches and stars all over other countries."

"I wasn't going to draw a mustache!" Alfred said defensively. "I was going to draw a sunflower! He _likes_ sunflowers."

"Not his face I bet he doesn't…" the attendant said stiffly, turning and disappearing into the next room.

Alfred huffed like a child and plopped back down into his plush chair. He kinda wished that Ivan would just wake up. It was _much_ more interesting to verbally harass the larger country than it was, just sitting here.

He imagined Ivan with little sunflowers all over his face and laughed into the back of his hand. God, he'd be _pissed_! It would be _so_ funny…

But, the whole point of bringing him back with him was to get him better so he could get rid of him as soon as possible. That meant that Ivan would need a lot of rest. He couldn't wake him up.

He tapped his foot restlessly. Now he had to cancel that movie night he'd planned with Kiku…unless he could keep Ivan shut up in the basement for a night. Somehow it seemed unlikely that things would go smoothly. Japan still kinda hated Ivan. But, hell…_he_ still hated Ivan…intensely.

Why was he doing this again?

Oh…yea. If Ivan's image was diminished, it would ruin America's image as well. The two were rivals. Coming out on top because your competitor is weak just…doesn't look as good. No matter how counterproductive it seemed, Alfred had to get Ivan strong again so they could continue their bickering in peace.

But…maybe he could have fun with this. He finally had an excuse to bring over some company for awhile. Being such a powerful country, America didn't have very many friends. Japan and England were pretty close to him if he really thought about it. But, England was always busy and whenever he came over, everything was always about the royal family. And every time Japan came over, Alfred just ended up not sleeping for a few weeks because of whatever horror film they'd watched. Maybe Ivan would be good company if he was too sick to be argumentative.

The attendant returned, carrying Alfred's computer in its case. She unzipped it and plugged it into the wall for him. "Anything else while I'm up?" she said calmly.

"Oh, could you bring me something to eat?"

"Course," she replied.

Alfred smiled. He loved having his Americans working for him. They always understood that, when he asked for food, he meant bring the buffet. It was only natural to them since they were the same way as he was. But, what was wrong with that?

He typed his password into his laptop. *J*U*S*T*I*C*E*L*E*A*G*U*E*1*9*9*1*. He got free wifi on his own plane of course. He went to google and searched treatments for the flu.

His food came in a few minutes later; about fourteen hamburgers, five orders of cheese fries, a rootbeer float, and some cake.

…

When they'd finally landed, Ivan looked like he was still out cold. Alfred got to his feet again after unbuckling his safety belts. Ivan's face was pale and he was sweating and shivering. If Alfred didn't hate him so much…he'd feel sorry for him.

The American lifted one of the Russians limp arms over his shoulder and lifted him up out of the seat. The Russian grumbled something unintelligible. He'd grown even _weaker_ over the flight than he'd been before.

Alfred would _never_ admit it, but he…was worried. "Goddamnit Ruski. When'd you get so light?" he said, laughing stiffly. It was a little disturbing actually. Someone as tall and broad as Russia should not be so lean…

There was a bit of weak struggling as Russia woke from his unrestful sleep. "Vell, I am sure ve can fix dat in your home, da?" he grunted.

Alfred grinned, choosing to take it as a compliment. "Well, sure. Even when we're in recession, we're still living in excess. It's so fucking nice," he snapped wittily.

Ivan grunted, stepping on the American's toes as they made their way across the cabin to Alfred's car. "Oh, I'm so very sorry…America," Ivan said sarcastically. Alfred bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to overreact and failing miserably. "Did zat hurt?" Ivan pushed, prodding the angry bear.

"Fuck it," Alfred muttered, slipping out from under the Russian. Ivan grabbed desperately at the air before toppling over onto the carpeted floor. He groaned and rolled over onto his back. He was already aching all over and that American swine wasn't making it any better.

"Vhat a hero you are…" he growled from the floor. His arms were sprawled out uselessly. He didn't even want to _think_ about moving, but his pride wouldn't allow him to ask for the American's help. So, he pressed his arms into the ground and tried to curl up into a sitting position at least. He was too weak.

"I'll help you up if you apologize," Alfred said, clicking his keys so his car beeped as it unlocked. He leaned against the stairs to the parking hold in the back of the plane.

If Ivan could just get down those stairs and into that car, he wouldn't have to worry with the American who was already leaning against his car. "I am sorry that you are a fat capitalist pig vith an ego dat is almost as big as his gut…" he spat.

Alfred pouted, pulling the passenger door open calmly. "Tsk, tsk. That won't do at all…" America was not going to send aid to Russia until he received a proper apology, but Ivan would do nothing of the sort; not now, not ever. Instead, the Russian was crawling across the floor, trying to get to the railing of the short staircase so he could haul himself up.

He was succeeding slowly but surely. He slid on his stomach to the railing and lifted his frail frame up; leaning against the metal as he gingerly descended the three steps.

Alfred watched, highly amused. The Russian was trying _so_ hard just so he wouldn't have to ask for help! This was hysterical! It was all he could do not to bust up pointing and laughing.

Ivan stumbled across the parking hold and let himself fall into the passenger's seat. Alfred held the door open for him at least. The American leaned over the side of the door and helped the Russian sit properly in his chair. "All better?" he said, feigning curtness.

"иди в жопу, mудак!" he grunted. (Sounding like '_ee-dee v zhoh-poo__mudak'__)_

Alfred translated it in his head and gave the Russian a shit-eating grin. "Now, that's not very nice~" he mused, leaning over Ivan to buckle him up. All he earned was a shove out of the car.

"I can handle dis myself!" he snapped, pulling the belt over his chest and strapping himself in.

Alfred shrugged and walked around to his driver's seat. He slipped down into the small car and started his ignition. "What kinda music do ya listen to?" he asked the grumpy Russian and was promptly ignored. "Alrighty then. My stuff it is." He pushed in a CD and settled for Poker Face by Lady Gaga.

The synthesizers and a steady drum beat pounded from all corners of the car as they pulled out. Alfred tapped his wheel to the beat. The music was a little repetitive and tacky, but he still loved it. It was fun and easy to listen and sing to. He knew the song had many meanings behind it, which made it that much cooler.

They drove from the airport and got onto the highway.

In the other seat, Ivan cringed with every word gaga sang. He tried to bear with it. He'd been miserable for the past two days. His body ached and his head felt like it was going to pop from pressure. That stupid plane ride hadn't helped _at all_. He felt nauseous and the music wasn't helping.

He didn't want the American to know that _anything_ would bother him; else the glutton would prod him with it constantly and he'd never find peace. He needed to get better as soon as possible so he could get home. But…this…this he couldn't take. He reached out a trembling hand to change the song.

Alfred glanced at Ivan and decided to let him choose a song. He'd already tortured the guy enough for one day. He'd punched him in the face, drove him from the world meeting, forced him to come to his country, and dropped him on the floor for stepping on his feet. That was at least four points for America.

"Vhat is this shit?" Ivan said coldly.

"Hm?" Alfred said, focusing mostly on the road. He glanced down at the radio. "Oh, that's Beiber, Timberlake, Iglesias, Manson, Franti and Spearhead, and…um…that's Tokio Hotel, Diddy, Eminem, and…I think there's Kei$ha in there too."

"Do you have any _good_ music?" Ivan demanded, wanting to throw up all over the dashboard.

"What're you talkin about? All that's good," Alfred said cynically.

Ivan flipped one more track and waited for the music to start. It began with a piano solo, so he waited. A few of the other songs had started well, but had just become unbearably American after a minute or two. But...this song…no way…

Realizing what he'd found, Alfred reached for the radio. Ivan grabbed his hand weakly. "This is…_she's American_!" he said defensively. He didn't try hard to pull free to change it though. He kinda liked Kerli too…

"Nyet…" Ivan said, staring at the radio in disbelief. "She is from Estonia."

"That's- _so_? A lot of my music is foreign!" Alfred said, not realizing how childish he sounded.

"But…vhy from Estonia? Russian music is far more agreeable." Ivan said, contemplating.

"Oh, get your head out of your ass," Alfred groaned.

"Though…this is a great step up from your Lady Gaga," he reasoned, "even if she _is_ singing in Estonian."

Alfred gripped the steering wheel. Lady Gaga was cool. She was one of his favorites. She was so interesting and ready to push limits. He silently flipped the Russian off, quietly searing in his seat. He reached to the radio and clicked to the next song.

"Nyet!"

"Yes! If we're listening to Kerli, we're _not_ listening to her sing in Estonian. It sounds too much like Russian. I like 'Speed Limit' better!"

"_I_ like 'Stay Golden'."

"Obviously," Alfred spat. "I didn't even tell you the name. You listen to this stuff on your own?" he laughed. "You said you hate Estonia and you hate _me_, but Kerli is both in one. You've been westernized."

"Why von't you just die for me?" Ivan snarled weakly, sinking back into his seat.

Alfred shrugged. "That sounds like an insult I'd use. You get more like me everyday…" he said, giving the Russian another shit-eating grin.

"Do not test me. I will strangle you even if you _are_ driving…" Ivan challenged.

"Oh, just chill," Alfred said, waving a hand dismissively. "It's not like I'm making an insult! You _should_ be more like me, you'd be cooler."

"I do not need to be any _'cooler'_. I would rather freeze to death."

"And you just might if you keep shiverin like that and do nothin about it. Put my coat back on," he suggested, tossing it over his passenger again.

Ivan looked revolted and he threw it off. "Do not touch me with your vile stench!"

"Really?" Alfred said impatiently. "Just take a nap please? We'll be at my house in like half an hour if you can just shut up and sleep or somethin."

Ivan glanced at Alfred, not letting the American notice his look. Why was he ignoring his insult like that? He expected a better more _bitter_ retort than that. Alfred just sounded…concerned instead of pissed. Shouldn't he be mad that he had to take care of Russia like this?

Ivan sat there and thought about the reason why the American might be taking care of him in the first place. It made sense. Russia was still a strong country. America had even chosen Russia to send their astronauts up to the international space station if Americans were needed up there. But right now, _Ivan_ was weak, and he knew it. He and Alfred were always in competition ever since the sixties with the space race. If Ivan fell out and was too weak to compete with Alfred. Then…the American would win by default. And that wasn't heroic at all.

Ivan watched the American prop his elbows on the wheel and put his chin in his palms. It was getting dark already. The plane ride had cut eight hours out of their day. Ivan considered that Alfred must be tired. He probably didn't sleep at all last night because of his independence celebration, then to have a flight to England at two in the morning and going home at noon with a sick Russian…

Alfred reached for his coffee. The lines in the road were beginning to merge together into one long, yellow line. He needed to get home and sleep. Ivan already seemed to be beating him to it apparently. He was sort of shocked that he'd let the argument go so quickly. He wasn't sure if that should make him worry that he was _really_ so sick that he couldn't even bicker with him, or if he should just be grateful for the silence and being able to listen to his music in peace.

He turned the track to 'Heartbeat' by Enrique Iglesias and Nicole Scherzinger . Making a mixed tape like this was _so_ illegal, but it's not like he really cared. He could just download the songs off iTunes and burn them on a CD. It seemed legal enough.

…

Alfred decided it was easiest to just carry the Russian back inside while he was still asleep. Ivan was a heavy sleeper and Alfred knew this. So, he slung the taller man over his shoulder and dug around in his pocket for his house key.

If he didn't get inside and get to bed soon, he'd faint on his doorstep. How much would _that_ suck…being _so close_?

He hitched Ivan further up on his shoulder and went back to his car. Most likely, he'd left his keys in the ignition again. So, he opened the driver's side door and bent over, and sure enough, that's where they were. He reached for them, thumping Ivan's head against the roof of the car as he did so.

"Aw, fuck…" he muttered as Ivan woke up, thrashing.

"Vhat the hell?" the Russian spat, struggling to get free of the American's arms. This was just plain demeaning. He'd never actually thought of how Alfred must have gotten him into his car…oh, God…that was _embarrassing_…

"Quit struggling or I'm gonna drop you!" Alfred said as Ivan kicked him in the side. It wasn't very difficult to keep a hold of him. He wasn't struggling very hard, though he seemed to think he was. He was out of breath already.

Alfred sighed and flipped the Russian off his shoulder and into both arms. "I could carry you like a bride if you'd rather, doll?"

"Vhat did you just 'all me?" Ivan said in horror.

Alfred laughed and began walking. Ivan kept struggling weakly, muttering curses at the American. Most of them were death threats that would have sent ice through the veins of any other country, but America was far too confident of his own strength to take a threat seriously.

One of these days, Ivan wanted to remind him why they were competitors. He would show the Alfred that America wasn't necessarily the strongest superpower. But first, he'd have to accept his southern hospitality and get himself better.

* * *

><p><em><span>Translations<span>_

_иди в жопу, mудак!- Fuck off, asshole!_

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><p><em>I'm kinda afraid that I'm making Russia sound more like France with the dialect I'm trying to give him…tell me if I am please?<em>

_Also...i didn't want to make the rating M just for some explicit language... i mean, in American highschools you hear this stuff everyday, so it's not like you have to be 17 to hear it. But...if it offends...i'm sorry, just ask and i'll change the rating._

_Review?_


	3. Know Your Enemy

_**Warning:**__ Super-Short, Rambly chapter ahead…filled with angst and sickness…and America having no clue what the hell he's doing._

_Song- Sensible Heart by City and Colour_

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><p>"Just fucking let me tuck you in!" Alfred said, frustrated.<p>

"Nyet!"

"Quit being such a stubborn bastard and lie down!"

"И сударыня не аребенок!"

"Come on! That's just not fair! I don't understand that stuff…" Alfred pouted. "Would you get in bed?"

"I thought you knew Russian?" Ivan said, confused. "You never asked vhat I vas saying vhen I spoke it…" He lied on his back and pulled the covers over himself. Ivan would _not_ let the American _tuck him in_ like a child…

"Well…psh…" Alfred began awkwardly, "I know _some_ Russian… lots of the shit _you_ use at me!"

"Like vhat?" Ivan said skeptically.

"Lots!"

"Lots like vhat?" Ivan persisted.

Alfred rubbed the back of his head. "Mostly cuss words, really…" he admitted.

Ivan rolled his eyes and flipped onto his side. He felt nauseous and his throat was _killing_ him. It was warm in Alfred's house, but he couldn't stop the random chills that overtook him and gave him pitiful goosebumps.

Alfred had carried him up two consecutive flights of stairs and into what he suspected was a guest bedroom. He hadn't allowed it without a fight- that was for sure. But, his _entire_ body ached and it wasn't like he had the stomach to do much other than squirm. As it was, he had gotten sick on the way up.

It had shocked him thoroughly that Alfred had been able to support his weight up the entire way with him writhing like that. Ivan was starting to believe the tawny British man when he spoke of the child America had been, lifting large boulders and killing massive animals many times his own size. The image of it seemed strange…

Alfred watched Ivan lying there and shivering stubbornly. He hadn't gotten the comforter up, just the regular sheets. But, he wasn't going to be allowed to touch the sheets, and the last thing Alfred needed was Ivan puking all over his bed because he was fighting too hard.

Ivan had gotten sick twice on the way up to the room, once in the living room, and once on the stairs. Al wasn't looking forward to cleaning it up, but it wasn't like he could call in a maid to do it for him, or someone would know that Russia was in America again and all hell might break lose. The whole point of going to his Wyoming home was so that they could keep away from people as much as possible.

"Do you want something to eat?" Alfred wondered suddenly. Ivan had thrown up everything in his stomach, so he _must_ be hungry…right?

"Cлабоумный," the Russian grunted.

"I'll take that as a yes?" Alfred said and he excused himself from the room. He hated being around sick people. They made the air feel thick and warm with illness. It was a relief to get out of that room. But now…as for the sick on the floor…

Ivan rolled over again. His head was throbbing and he was going to puke. Alfred had put a bucket next to the bed, but somehow it only made him feel more nauseous knowing it was expected that he would throw up. Well, he'd show the American…he _wouldn't_ get sick…he _**would**__**not**__…_

After mopping his hardwood floor, Alfred threw away the mop. He could never clean with that again and feel like he was actually cleaning anything. He lidded the trash can and wiped his hands on his pants. The screen door creaked behind him as he stepped over the threshold.

Alfred had at least one house in every state. They were all small though; little townhouses in some places like San Francisco, or a small cottage in Vermont. He didn't often visit his homes in the Midwest. The east coast was usually a lot more demanding and he had to stay and regulate things with the smaller states.

He took a bag frozen patties from the freezer. The entire ice box was stuffed with bags of frozen beef. He armed himself and walked outside to his grill.

Meanwhile, Ivan inspected the room he'd been forced into. There was a large window with red and white striped curtains pulled off to the sides. It was growing dark outside. His eyes drifted across the faded blue walls and dark wood furniture.

The room seemed to be well broken in…more so than guest rooms usually were. The sheets were softer and there were personal photographs on the walls. The entire place smelled strongly of America; like a mix between fast food, molten metal, warm wheat fields and heated blacktop. Maybe Ivan had been wrong in suspecting that this room was for company.

His sore eyes roamed listlessly over the photographs across the walls. He suspected that most were taken by the little Japanese man that Alfred was such good trading partners with.

Ivan smiled wryly, completely perturbed. Photographs of the American brought back strange and painful memories. The last time he'd looked at photographs of Alfred…

He remembered those years when America had spied on his country and he had spied right back. They both had billions of pictures, taken in secret, which could hold any sort hidden weakness. He'd learned more about the western nation than he'd probably wanted to know.

Alfred had always been a spoilt little kid. He'd never had to fight as hard as _anyone_ else, never had to protect his borders from invaders, never had to deal with famine and plague, and had always had things _much _easier than the others. Ivan had thought.

But, he'd done research during the Cold War. More research than he should have…

It was easier to hate someone that you didn't know; someone you couldn't relate to. Ivan found things in Alfred's past that made it difficult to hold onto his fabricated hatred, built upon the assumption that America had it easy because of his blissful isolation.

After America had gained nuclear capabilities, Russia was angry, jealous, and threatened. He'd spent so long convincing himself that Alfred was a child that was unready to be the strength of the world. Russia deserved it more. _He_ had worked so much harder. _He_ had suffered so much more.

And it was very true that Ivan had suffered. He'd been invaded by Mongols when he was just a child; they ripped him to shreds, but he always came back. The Russian Revolution, WWII with it's difficult fight against Germany, his men- ill-equipped and freezing to death, the rebellions and slaughtering of his people, Lenin's death, Stalin's reforms, the gulags, murder of protesters, communist reformations, the Winter War with Finland, Hungary and Poland's protests- turned bloody…and more was to come.

Compared to all _that_, Alfred hadn't suffered _anything_.

But then…Ivan saw the picture.

Each country's boss had a picture of the country in their most raw form. Russia's tsars had one of him during their time. England's kings had theirs, and America's president had one.

It showed nothing inappropriate that might make the human part of the nation feel uncomfortable, but it showed enough skin so that whoever was in charge could know all the country's scars by heart. The person who was supposed to be in charge of America was the one who loved their country more than anyone and knew their history better than anyone.

The presidents had written all over the photograph in different color pens.

Ivan's hand had trembled as he studied his enemy's past. America's face was expressionless. He had been called in to take a photograph for reference and it didn't seem like anything… But, Alfred had always worn clothes that covered those scars.

The first one Ivan noticed was labeled the Mason Dixon line and it stretched, pink and prominent, all the way around Alfred's midline. It was labeled with curly letters in black ink.

The next was sliced just under Alfred's left collarbone and had 1812 written next to it in red pen. That scar was the furthest up on his body of any of the scars.

The Revolutionary War was fainter than some of the others, faded with age. It peeled across his chest, just missing his heart and stretching from his shoulder to his sternum.

More scars were labeled; King Philip's War, King William's War, Spanish Succession, Austrian Succession, French and Indian, Cherokee War, Franco-American Naval War, Barbary, Creek War, Texas Independence from Mexico, Mexican-American War, and Spanish-American.

Little battles from both World Wars speckled across both sides of his frame. Those were the deepest, yet the smallest.

Pearl Harbor was situated on his foot and was labeled in tiny letters just as most of the smaller scars. Other battles from the Pacific war were scattered across the left side of his body.

Over his heart, there was an arrow labeled 'Civil War' in the same curly writing as the Mason Dixon line. That scar was the most gruesome. It looked like the American had been cracked in half like a well-cooked Chesapeake crab.

Ivan had winced in seeing that line. It brought back memories he had been trying to suppress. He had been there when it had happened. Alfred had begun complaining of chest pain in the spring of 1861 when Fort Sumter was held by the Confederates. The wound had all-out _split_ in 62 at Pittsburg Landing.

Alfred refused to take part in the fighting. It would drive him into madness if he tried to wage war against himself. So, they stood on a hill above the battle and Ivan had watched helplessly as blood dripped through Alfred's layers of clothing. He had held him. He had patted Alfred's hair as the younger nation had sobbed into his chest.

But, compared to some of the wounds Ivan had, the civil war had seemed like nothing to him while it was happening. Seeing the scar that remained afterwards was shocking.

Seeing _all_ these little marks was harrowing. Ivan had always known that America had a bloodier past than most people were aware of…rather, bloodier than they _chose_ to _recognize_. But, spending time with Alfred, no one would suspect him to wear such scars under that smile.

And, while Ivan suddenly gained respect for the American…he had to hate him more for making him respect him.

Ivan was a bad actor. He wore his emotions on his sleeve without even meaning to. He tried to hide everything with a smile like the Alfred did. But, his smiles were so false they only scared people.

Ivan thought he wanted to be able to hide his emotions, but he would watch Alfred grinning at Japan just a decade after stabbing him in the shoulder with his nuke. And…Ivan decided he didn't want to be a liar like that. It was disgusting.

Despite his history, Alfred had _everything _Ivan had ever wanted; warm climates, isolation, a government that was steady for the most part, hell…he even had fields of sunflowers. But, somehow…he knew how to ruin it. He knew how to overdo it. He knew how to rub it in people's faces until they wanted to strangle him. He knew how to get on Ivan's _every last_ nerve…

And now he was stuck here.

Unable to sit up without getting sick.

Shivering in eighty-degree weather.

Was this hell?

"I've got the burgers~!" a peppy voice sang from the doorway.

No way… Ivan's head snapped to the side, making his vision swirl a little. Alfred was standing next to the bed-stand, equipped with a plate of five hamburgers and some potato salad.

_**The smell…**_

Ivan keeled over to the side of the bed and heaved.

Alfred watched, frowning. Why didn't that work? He always felt better after having something to eat…

"Получать а реальный…ugh…врач!" Ivan snarled.

Alfred stared at him wordlessly.

"Doctor!'

* * *

><p><em>There are a <em>_**lot**__ of historical references in here that I don't really want to explain. But look some up if you're really interested. You might learn something XD_

* * *

><p>Translations- (keep in mind I'm doing this off the internet…not gonna say they're perfect.)<p>

И сударыня не аребенок!- I am not a child

Cлабоумный.- Idiot

Получать а реальный…ugh…врач!- Get a real…doctor.

* * *

><p><em>My grandparents have a house in Florida. The <em>_**entire**__ freezer is packed with frozen hamburgers. We opened it and i almost peed myself laughing (plus it's a 10 hour carride and i needed to go anyway) I find that so amusing. I figured Alfred would do the same thing with all his houses._


	4. Be Civil

_Kay, so this chap is still a bit angsty and very historic. I think I might've made Al a bit ooc…I just don't want to make him a total idiot __**all the time**_

**_William does NOT belong to me. He is the sole property of the __amazing__ Blurple Mage on Deviantart. Check out her stuff, she's an awesome artist and her work is __hysterical__…I coudln't have designed a better Confederate America myself. :D_**

_And I don't mean to offend anyone with anything written in here…it's just a story…_

* * *

><p>Songs (wrote with them in this order)-<p>

'Not As We' by Alanis Morissette

'Bowl of Oranges' by Bright Eyes

'If Winter Ends' by Bright Eyes

'Speaking a Dead Language' by Joy Williams

Yeeaaahhh…same band twice…whatever. And if you haven't noticed, I love unfitting music for when I'm writing. XD

* * *

><p>"<em>Alfred. I refuse to take your frivolous, idealist dreaming anymore…" he said, turning on his heal and putting his head against the wall. His brown hair shucked up, caught in the grain of the wood. <em>

"_Will, I…I didn't intend to put you under the assumption that I would __**force**__ you to the abolition…"_

"_Really?" the brunette said skeptically. Alfred understood nothing about the South. He didn't understand the necessity of slavery to continue their agricultural lifestyle. They might be the same person, practically identical, but Alfred understood nothing about William. How could they be so different when they were supposed to be two parts of a whole? If they wanted to continue sharing this land, calling themselves __**one**__ country, they would have to work in harmony. …It wasn't happening so far. _

"_I __**will not**__ try and force you…but…I believe you know where I stand when it comes to the moral ramifications of-"_

"_Oh, __**save it**__, Al. I have already heard your 'I am the final and ultimate good, so my morals are undoubtedly and wholly right, therefore I will run the country and you feed it' speech." He took a deep breath after producing such a long title for Alfred's pleading. "I have already recognized that the North is more enlightened and industrialized than me, but-"_

"_Will…I didn't mean…" the North representative began, looking taken aback. _

_Will cut him off, "But you __**did**__…and you __**do**__. I do not care if you control the political centers of the country. I hardly even mind that my people produce eighty percent of the produce that feeds __**our**__ nation. What I __**hate**__ is that you pretend that I am the bad guy. __**You **__are no better yourself," he spat, jabbing a finger into Alfred's chest. "I cannot abolish slavery."_

"_I never asked you to," Al said desperately. Will had been threatening to succeed the union ever since he'd had that meeting with South Carolina. And, Alfred had this horrible feeling in his gut that __**he**__ was unwittingly driving him away himself. Nevertheless, he had to say __**something**__. His fear of losing his brother and splitting America was far worse than his hatred of slavery. If their country split it would destroy everything he'd fought for in the revolutionary war. It would destroy people's faith in democracy. If ancient Greece and Rome could make it work…he __**had**__ to as well. But, if Will was going to point fingers, he was going to fight back. He continued, "But…I wish that you would let it fade… Many of your people believe it's wrong…" _

"_I can't __**do**__ that!" William snapped, slamming his hand down on the carved brown table. Alfred winced at the sudden shouting. They were meeting in the capital, they shared a home there. _

_They had already digressed from the real point of the meeting back to their normal bickering. _

_William had come to inform Alfred that one of his forts near Charleston was running low on supplies. However, it wasn't a simple matter. The fort was in South Carolina…a state that had all but succeeded already. She was __**itching**__ to cut herself from Alfred…she __**hated**__ him, her loyalties to William alone. And, while Sumter was still faithful to the Union, they were an island in that nature. If Alfred sent supplies, than he would be openly supporting one side and it might be taken as a war-act. But it wasn't like he could just abandon the fort or it would be the same as abandoning the hope that, one day, South Carolina would be faithful to the union again. _

_Al swallowed roughly and ran his hands across the back of his neck to ease his stress. He hesitated, "…Alright. Will you deliver this to them?" He turned his back and moved to the back of his room where he kept a store closet of food, medical supplies, and jugs of clean water. _

_There were weapons stacked against the back wall of the storehouse, lined up on wooden racks in the straw. Alfred glanced at them and shook his head. The ship might be attacked if the confederates thought he was supplying their enemy. Or what if the ship was taken and looted? He __**wouldn't**__ arm the confederates…_

_He emerged with a massive armful of supplies; a ship-full on his own. Will stepped forward to accept the kindness before his men starved, but he hesitated. South Carolina was speaking in his head. 'If we take his supplies…nothing will ever change. He will __**never**__ recognize our ideology. If you take those supplies…you are submitting to him…just like always. We are stronger than he credits us for. We could survive on our own, but he? He would starve without us…' William dropped his hand, making up his mind._

"_I don't want it."_

"_What?"_

"_I will not run __**your**__ errands," William said coldly. "Nor will I allow you to take it yourself."_

_Alfred stepped back, eyes wide. That fort was supposed to symbolize their union; the union between the north and the south. If he wanted Alfred to abandon it; just hand it over to the confederates…It had gotten to that point…_

"_Just…please let them have the supplies?" Alfred implored. At this point, he didn't even care if he lost the fort to the confederacy. He just wanted Will to take the food to his troops…__**their**__ troops…_

_William smacked the armful across the room. Water jugs crashed into the walls, splashing their contents across the floor; jars of preserved meats and fruits cracked on the floor. Alfred's hands hung suspended in the air where they had just been. Water gushed past their feet. A drop of blood dripped down from his forearm from a fresh cut where Will's nails had sliced his skin. It would leave a small scar. Alfred was in shock. He had been attacked… _

_Somewhere in the south, a ship went down in flames, people screaming and jumping over the sides…many sailors killed, unable to escape in time. The south had turned against him._

"_Do you realize what you've done?" Alfred asked gravely. _

"_Unfortunately…" William replied. It wasn't like this decision made him __**happy**__. It was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. But, he couldn't sit back and take it anymore. _

_Alfred bit his lip. He knew that other countries had two representatives like he did…Italy had two. But, had they ever waged war? He knew that other countries had civil wars as well. But, those were always a mix between civil war and revolutionary. Their government was always fighting with itself to change, but here...they were fighting to stay the same. _

_What would happen to him if William succeeded? Would they just become separate countries…just like that? _

_And what if he won? What would happen to William? _

_He would be forgotten… _

_Maybe not erased from history, but he would be stripped of his position. As long as people still knew his story, he would remain, but he could no longer be a country. _

_"…Why…?" Alfred managed finally. His eyes had gone blurry. Not from tears…his vision had become clear again and Texas was blurring his vision. He took the state off and set it down on the table. _

_William rubbed his head tiredly. He took Texas off the table and slipped the glasses on. "Because…I don't want to do this with you anymore. I'll be better off alone."_

_"Will, we-"_

_"No, Al! Not __**we**__. The South ain't big enough for both of us! And I ain't lettin' you have it anymore!" With that, he slammed the door behind him. _

_Alfred opened it again and ran out onto the front yard. But, William was gone. His decision still held heavy in the air like his ghost was haunting his other half. Alfred clutched at his chest. It felt like the bones of his ribcage were bending under his skin, trying to open outwards. Alfred ran forward. _

_"Will? William! Will, come back!"_

_"Alfred…America…Al…_Al, wake up damnit!"

Alfred's eyes flashed open and he jerked up to a sitting position. "Wha?" he groaned, glasses askew.

"Who's William?"

"Ah…" his eyes focused. Alfred looked up. His personal doctor was leaning over him, staring at him suspiciously. It was the same man from the jet they'd taken home. America frowned. Of course a regular human wouldn't remember Will…

It was time to put on the mask again…

"Why are you sleeping on the floor?" Dr. Burns demanded.

Alfred glanced around himself. He hadn't even noticed yet. His phone was skidded on the floor just a few inches from where his hand had just been. "Oh…I called you over didn't I?" he said, letting the wires connect in his brain. "Guess I couldn't make it to put the phone up…heh…" he laughed awkwardly.

"Why did I need to fly out from Washington on such short notice?" Dr. Burns demanded, holding out a hand to help his nation stand up. He had just gotten home when he received the call. He loved his country and all, but sometimes America pissed him off. "Did you become narcoleptic?" he said sarcastically.

"No…what'd's that even mean? No, I've got someone I need your help with…" Alfred replied. He should in a _much_ better mood after getting some sleep…even if it was just because he'd passed out on the floor. But, if he was going to flash back to such things…maybe sleep was the enemy.

"What're you gettin on about now?" Burns demanded.

Alfred's brain blanched. Oh yeah…Ivan. "I need help takin care of the sick commie... Um…I figured that you already knew from the plane, so you're the only guy I would trust. I don't really want everyone knowing I'm takin care of him, y'know? I've got _no_ clue what to do. I figured I'd go out and buy him some antiviral medication today, but…it's been so long since I was sick and I didn't pay any attention when you guys were taking care of me…"

"You're asking me to babysit?" Burns said dryly. He'd sort of figured that Alfred was calling about the Russian, so he'd come prepared anyway. He'd brought the antiviral medication.

Alfred closed his eyes. "I'm asking for advice. I've got _no_ clue what I'm doing…I just know what it feels like on the other end…but apparently he doesn't get hungry after he pukes like I always did…"

Dr. Burns face-palmed for the hundredth time since working for his nation. "Alfred, you idiot… I've got the medication, but I'll write a list of things you need to go buy. I'm sure you don't have any decent food…"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, Alfred," he replied dismissively. "Mr. Russia might not be able to hold down normal food. So, you'll only want to give him crackers and clear soda until he can hold it down. I'll write up what you can feed him after that."

"God, the flu sounds like hell…" Alfred muttered. "You guys let me eat pretty much anything when I was sick…granted there wasn't much food _to_ eat…but, I mean…they gave me moldy bread…"

"Well, not that I was there to know, but I suspect that there wasn't any other food to eat…so…" Dr. Burns droned. He hadn't been alive during the depression. But, Alfred talked about it all the time, so he knew more than he needed to.

Alfred nodded. "I'll go check on the big lump and go out to get this shit." He waved the grocery list beind him as he walked.

Burns nodded and went past Alfred to the kitchen to write the American a list of do's and don'ts. He tapped his chin idly with the back of the pencil while he thought of anything he might've missed.

Alfred knocked quietly at the door before entering his room. "How're ya Ruski?" he said carefully as he took in the scene. Ivan had thrown the sheets off in the humid, sick heat. His catch bucket had been abused pretty badly. The curtains were still pulled back so the room was almost painfully bright. But, Ivan couldn't get up to close them.

Alfred stepped in, meeting one of the coldest glares he'd ever received (and that was saying something). Ivan was flipped over and curled onto his side at the edge of his bed so he only had to crane his neck if he was going to be sick.

"I hate you…so much," he muttered weakly.

Alfred walked in further. He moved to the windows and closed the curtains. The room dipped into a serene, low light. "Did you get any sleep?" Alfred asked, concerned.

Ivan didn't speak.

"How many times did you…?"

"Three…mostly dry heaving…" Ivan said coldly. "Vhere vere you?"

"Ah…um…"

"He passed out in the hallway floor," a third voice responded. Dr. Burns walked into the room casually. He carried a large black leather duffle bag in one hand a sheet of paper in the other. "Idiot doesn't know when to admit he's tired."

"Da…he is stupid."

"I am _not_. It's not _my_ fault you gotcha self sick…damn Ruski…" Alfred muttered dryly. If it weren't for taking care of Ivan, he would've been in _his_ bed by midnight. Even _that_ would've been less than he _needed_, but it would be more than he'd _gotten_. Instead, he was letting Ivan take his bed and sick up his house.

"Yet I am here. And you refuse to take me to my home," Ivan pointed out coldly. His voice scratched in his throat.

"Ah, you know why I can't do that," Alfred snapped. "You wouldn't accept my help even if I _offered_ to take you home. You won't even let me carry you up the stairs. You wouldn't be here if you weren't so damn weak."

"I am not weak," Ivan snapped. "I don't vant to talk to you. I vant you to leave this room." Ivan was speaking politically compared to what he _wanted_ to say.

"Then why doncha stand up and make me!" Alfred said, raising a fist and stepping forward.

Dr. Burns grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. Alfred turned, not really phased, just confused. "Alfred, here's a list of groceries you'll need. Ivan should be better in about a week. Just follow these instructions," he said calmly, handing him the list he'd made.

Alfred stared at him and pulled his arm away easily. "You coulda just said something. I wasn't gonna hit him…"

"Then why did you make like you were going to?" Burns demanded.

Ivan shook his head slowly. "It is like you do not even know him…"

Alfred nodded, smiling. By now, Ivan would know that he only went though with sixty-percent of his threats. Alfred waved the shopping list, "Guess I'll be back in a bit," he said brightly.

Ivan buried his face deeper into the mattress. "Cлабоумный…" he muttered.

Alfred ignored the familiar phrase and dashed from the room. The nearest town was through fourteen miles of country. It would take half an hour just to get there. He hopped in his Civic and peeled out of the driveway.

Ivan rolled over. Alfred's doctor was standing over him, scrutinizing. "So…are you feeling any better?" he asked.

Ivan shook his head. "I am okay."

Burns leaned forward and popped a thermometer into the Russian's mouth. Ivan gave little struggle. He might hate Alfred, but _some_ Americans were bearable. He let the doctor take his temperature and watched while the aging man took some notes on a clipboard.

Alfred clicked his tongue to some unknown rhythm while he stood in line at the grocery store. The grocery list wasn't very long. He already had popsicles in the house, and there was bread for burgers that he could use to make turkey sandwiches. He just bought some V8, Campbell's chicken noodle soup, green tea, and Breakfast Essentials milk supplement.

He chatted for a few minutes with the teenager at the register. It was a small town with little old buildings made of brick and only a few major stores. There was virtually no traffic on a good day. On bad days, the place could be packed with passing traffic from the nearest city just down the highway.

As he was driving back home, Alfred got distracted. The town had gotten an Edward McKay's… They always carried those books that Kiku was so obsessed with. He wasn't crazy about reading, but it wasn't crowded, so he decided to stop.

As he walked in, there were superhero posters hanging up on the walls, comic books, videogames, dvds, cds, everything. He roamed around for a few minutes. The smell of old books always made Alfred crave coffee. The manga section was in the very middle of the store. He spent a good half hour sitting on the floor reading MARVEL and looking through the mangas for Kuroshitsuji. Kiku had insisted he read it. But, it wasn't here, so he gathered the pile of books he wanted and began walking to the register.

His eye got caught again by a thick book with an American flag across the cover. "The Metaphysical Club…" he read aloud to himself. "By Louis Menand…" He flipped open to the preface and read the first sentence, slamming the book back down. "No…not today…" he muttered.

He made his way to the register, reading the little quotes that the employees had written on a large dry-erase board hung up on the back wall. There was a huge golden bust of James Brown sitting on a filing cabinet and a crude drawing of the Vault Boy from Fallout 3. On the walls were vintage posters from WWII. Alfred grinned. He loved this store.

When he got up to the register, a skinny girl with big, frizzy hair rang him up. He idly tapped on the counter while she did, looking around. There were little clear plastic tubes of colorful candies. He picked one up; chocolate covered sunflower seeds. "These too…" he said, tossing it into the pile of things he was buying.

Ivan was finally asleep when Alfred walked in the door. Dr. Burns had hung blackout curtains on the windows to block out the sun. He'd given the Russian some painkiller and antiviral pills that had felt like spiked-lead going down his sore, inflamed throat. Burns had forced him to open his mouth after swallowing them to make sure he'd really put them down. The doctor had left afterwards, leaving post-it notes all over Alfred's kitchen.

Al set down the groceries on the kitchen counter and peeled a note off his freezer.

_Al- Give Russia a Popsicle when he wakes up. His throat hurts. Don't be an asswipe. _

_~Robert Burns_

The American tore up the note and tossed the pieces into the trash. He rifled through the shopping bags and brought out the plastic canister of sunflower candies, attaching a post-it note to tell Ivan where he'd gone. Next, he grabbed a little lunch cooler and poured two cups of ice into it. He tucked the box of Popsicles inside and zipped it back up.

He crept into his bedroom, knowing he could make as much noise as he wanted and Ivan wouldn't be bothered, but still being quiet out of instinct. He set the candies on the bedside table and put the cooler on the floor.

His shuttle was launching on Friday. He would be gone for four days. Ivan could survive on his own here for awhile, and there was no way he'd be strong enough to get himself out.

Alfred took all the phones in the house just in case, including the cellphone from Ivan's raincoat pocket. He couldn't have the Russian calling for help.

He looked over at Ivan, sleeping soundly, curled up into a ball at the side of the bed. Alfred smiled and reached over, moving the sleeping man's limbs so he laid out flat on his back with his head propped up on the plush pillow. He stepped back, satisfied with his work. Al pulled the comforter over him and pushed his hair back to feel his temperature before leaving.

…

Ivan woke with an aching throat, but at least most of the nausea was gone…

"Amerika?" he called, expecting that Alfred would be in the next room over. There was no response. Ivan sat up, reaching under his scarf and rubbing his neck. He glanced over at the clock. It was past noon already. He hated changing time zones. Who knew if his diurnal clock was on or off right now?

He noticed the plastic package of sunflower seeds next to the clock. He reached out and took it, peeling off the post-it note.

_Commie,_

_Eat a Popsicle when you wake up. Doctor said you need to drink somethin, but he also said ur throat hurts, and it won't feel like your swallowin if you eat a popsicle and let it melt in ur mouth. _

_Also, I had to leave. I'll be back Saturday. There's a list of foods you should eat in the kitchen from Burns. Take ur pills and whatever else he toldja 2 do._

_B bac in 4 days. If I come home an my house is trashed, I'll fucking kill you._

_~love Alfred _

"Such hospitality…" Ivan muttered, breaking open the seal and eating a green sunflower seed.

There was something not right about eating unborn baby sunflowers dunked in chocolate, but it couldn't be any worse than eating burgers…much better actually. And the candies were so small he hardly even had to swallow…

Was this Alfred's way of apologizing for leaving him here alone?

Why would he apologize for making Ivan happier?

The Russian shrugged and leaned over the bed. There was a little lunch box. He unzipped it. Inside there was a box with a picture of a superhero dressed in blue with an 'A' written on his head. He was carrying a red, white, and blue shield with a star on it. Ivan ripped open the box and unwrapped one of the frozen sugar sticks.

It was red, white, and blue, so Ivan supposed that it was supposed to be patriotic…but then why was it colored like that French man's flag?

He shrugged and took a bite off the top.

If he didn't get himself better soon, he was going to kill himself. This was torture. America's house smelled like him. The decoration had his personality. Everything about this place was slowly bringing back those selectively repressed memories Ivan had ignored for a century and a half.

…

Alfred had been there…for a long time. Most of Ivan's life. Ivan wasn't as old as a lot of people credited him for. His land had had a different representative during the time of Vikings when it was still called Novgorod. Ivan had been created in 1547 when Ivan the Terrible became the first Russian tsar and united the dukedoms that had been the governing forces of the land.

Alfred was a different story. His creation was bloody as well, but a bit less sure. He knew that there had been another Native America representative before him, and Alfred had lived with him for a period, but he didn't want to think of how Alfred had replaced him.

The two countries had remained separated by the ocean for the longest time. They never even spoke until 1799, when the Russian-American Company was chartered. Alfred and Ivan began sharing parts of the far north American continent.

Then France had invaded. Ivan burned his own capital rather than let Napoleon take it. He'd been waging wars with the Ottoman Empire, Persia, Poland, and practically every other country it seemed. Luckily, the French army was weak in the face of Ivan's winter climates.

Meanwhile, things had finally exploded between Alfred and Arthur. England attacked America's capital, burning many government buildings. Ivan heard a story about Alfred's first lady stowing a picture of George Washington in her underwear to keep it safe. He teased Alfred about it every chance he got.

They began trading closely, often sharing bottles of wine to complain about England. Alfred was still on pretty bad terms with his former care-giver. Ivan offered to mediate their dispute. Alfred accepted gratefully, but Arthur wouldn't have it. Russia was far more inclined to agree with America than England on any matter.

Later, France and England joined the Ottoman Empire against Ivan in the Crimean War. When Alfred heard news of it he sailed over to meet with Ivan. He brought hundreds of ships with medical supplies and doctors with him to come to Russia's aid. Arthur was furious that his former colony would become almost allies with one of his enemies.

Almost a decade later, the war was over and Ivan's boss had finally put an end to serfdom in his country. Ivan was overjoyed. His people wouldn' be worked like mules anymore. He sailed to America to tell Alfred. But the news wasn't taken in the best of times. Alfred was engulfed in a heated argument with William, his southern half.

Al and Will were the same person, just under two different spectrums. And right now, they hated each other…and loved each other. Alfred asked Ivan to stand with him and watch his people die with him. Ivan had accepted easily, he brought ships to aid the union. Alfred had been there for him during the Crimean War. So, he stood with Alfred and held him at each battle, watching Alfred rip open slowly. He'd cried then more than Ivan ever saw again. He would start mumbling about how democrisy had failed. Ivan would only hold him closer and mumble praise for Alfred's government, promising it would never fail him.

The Civil war ended on a bleak note. William had become Confederate America rather than Southern America. There had been only one way to end the war. Alfred had stabbed through William with a bayonet. Both halves had fallen to the ground. William faded. Alfred gained a second half…and a scar.

When he woke, he pulled up his shirt and found the Mason Dixon line marked all the way around his midsection. Confederate America had merged into the union. Will would be back the next day, but he would never be a landmass…he would never be a country.

In 1867, Alfred finally bought Russian-America from Ivan and Matthew. He named it Alaska. Most of Alfred's government was against the transaction. It wasn't beneficial to America. But, it helped Russia's financial situation at the time.

Alfred had come and visited often. He would stay in Alaska and cross over the Bering Strait. Ivan would wait on the other side and they would share spirits and tell stories. Ivan was often at war with the Ottoman Empire and Japan, and Alfred was fighting with Antonio now. They shared war stories and cleaned each other's wounds. Alfred gained interest in Russian literature and Ivan would bring over his tsars and go hunting in America's midwest.

Alfred told Ivan everything. It was evident that America wanted more than anything to fly. He told Ivan specifically several times of some of the fascinating experiments his people were doing and the stories he'd heard about France's balloons. Ivan shared some of his research about psychology and physics. Their relationship was questionable during this time. Who knew what they were…friends, allies, what? They hardly knew themselves.

But, Ivan's government was failing. His people were crying out against the tsars, and there was widespread famine. Alfred rushed to his aid, bringing humanitarian groups with food and supplies. Ivan increased immigration to America to ease some of the poverty. The two stayed together many nights for lack of having anywhere else to go.

Meanwhile, in North Carolina, on the windy beaches of Kitty Hawk, America had finally done it. A glider-type aircraft with an actual motor had been airborne for almost a minute. They had…flown.

Alfred looked on the verge of pissing himself with excitement as he broke down Ivan's front door. The Russian had been reading serenely in his living room when the American had dashed in, leaped into his lap, and kissed him full on the lips. Needless to say, Ivan didn't finish that book that night.

They didn't have much time to celebrate the achievement though. Anti-Semitism suddenly began spreading throughout Russia, and Ivan found himself in Isreal's house, ramming the smaller country into a wall by the neck. Alfred intervened. He agreed to allow Russia to send even more Jewish immigrants to the states if his people were going to harass them.

Things in Russia finally snapped. Over a thousand peaceful demonstrators were gunned down by the imperial guard. The tsar system had failed its people. Tsar Nicholas II abdicated his throne on March 15, 1917.

Ivan was in the heat of a revolution when Europe started falling to pieces. He never thought he would be allied to France and England of all people. It had taken awhile to finally suck America into the war, but his resources inevitably pulled him in finally. The two were allies in _both_ World Wars.

It wasn't until the end of the Second World War that things _really_ went sour. Alfred had gained nuclear capabilities. Ivan's boss, Stalin, had turned Russia against America, taking Ivan down into it. Alfred was just trying to stop communism from spreading. Ivan was just trying to protect what he thought was his. Alfred was getting in the way. Ivan had always supported _him_ and _his_ government. How could Alfred oppose communism if it was the first form of stability Ivan had gotten since the tsars had ended?

Other countries were sucked into it. Wars broke out across eastern Europe and Asia. Alfred controlled West Berlin, and Ivan had the East. When people in the East started trying to cross over to the democratic half, Ivan put up a wall. Protests began all across the Soviet Union. Some wanted democrisy and tried to jump the wall while others began wars to make their own countries Communist as well.

Korea split. Vietnam erupted. America tried to mediate _everything_ even when his own people were against the wars. Ivan watched Alfred closely. The spying began.

They started competing on _everything_. After Alfred had been the first to split the atom and to go airborne, Ivan had to be the first in space. After Ivan had put up a satellite, Alfred had to put a flag on the moon.

Somehow…they ended up hating each other. And…things had never been 'okay' after that. They hadn't been perfect before, but they got much worse.

…

Ivan licked the last of the juice off the Popsicle stick and laid back again. Now he was alone in Alfred's home. It wasn't like he could just forget all that history. But…it wasn't like he could ignore the present. Why did Alfred ask him to send up his astronauts for him? Was this a second chance or something?

* * *

><p><em>So…yea…this was the longest thing I've ever written. <em>

_The Metaphysical Club is this book I'm reading that goes through some of the major historical figures of the Civil war that helped shape the modern American way of thinking. I figured that Al probably wouldn't want to read it after that nightmare._

_Too many historical references to actually go through and explain them all…I'm sure I've bored you all into a corner. I'm sorry._

_And if you add this story 2 ur subscription or ur favs, be sure to leave a review while ur there. It's much appreciated XD_


	5. I'm a Pilot

_Last chapter was really long. There was a lot of history stuffs…not much fluff, so here's this Had to change the rating for implied sexual situation. It's really not __**that**__ raunchy. _

_Kyo- you commented annomously, so I couldn't respond privately. Ruski just means Russian in…the Russian language. It's kinda derogatory I guess, not really though. It's just a mispronounced version of the word Russian. It must make Americans sound pretty stupid to them when we use it though…_

* * *

><p>Songs-<p>

'I'm a Pilot' by Fanfarlo

'Once was Love' by Ingrid Michaelson

'Fighting for Nothing' by Meg and Dia

* * *

><p><em>Alfred had been called in to watch it. Wilbur had called in news reporters, so Alfred had been there when it happened; he'd seen the entire thing. And…he was in shock; the happy kind of shock. They'd broken the chains that hold us to the ground. They'd…flown.<em>

_He ran up to Matthew's house to tell his brother. Matthew brought out some wine to celebrate, but Alfred turned it down. He wanted to tell Ivan. "No thanks, Mattie. But, will you go rub this in Francis' face for me? I've got to go right now actually… I'll be back and we can celebrate later!"_

_The younger twin smiled. It wasn't often that Alfred acknowledged him without Matthew having to burn down D.C. "Sure thing, Al! I was planning on visiting anyway…"_

_"I love you, Mattie!" Al cried, rushing for the door. _

_Matthew just shook his head, smiling. He didn't really __**care**__ where the hell Alfred was hurrying off to; it was just good to see him so happy. And, he knew how much this meant to him…to the world._

_Alfred banged on the Russian door. "Ivan! I know you're in there! Open up, I've __**got**__ to tell you something!"_

_Inside, Ivan was sitting in his comfortable worn armchair. A large fire was going under the mantel. Dostoyevsky was open in his lap and a pair of reading glasses were over his eyes. _

_He blinked sleepily, forcing back a yawn. It had been another long day in Russia. The Kishinev Program was hanging over his head, pitting his own people against him. He hardly heard Alfred banging at the door. _

_"I'm breakin it down then!"_

_There was a loud splintering and the sound of heavy boots on his wood floor. Ivan looked up, surprised to see America running into his living room. He didn't even have time to register that he should flinch before Alfred had jumped into his lap and smooshed their faces together. _

_"Mmmpph?" Ivan wondered, voice blocked by the American's lips. _

_Alfred had nestled himself into the taller man's lap, a leg bent over on either side so he was straddling him. He held Ivan's face still between both hands until he was satisfied with the point he had made. _

_He pulled away, grinning. "I did it!" he said brightly._

"_Are you drunk, Alfred?" Ivan wondered. If Alfred was over, it would be very hard to get any sleep tonight. And considering the fact that Alfred had just kissed him, maybe they were going to be experimental…see how far they could push their relationship until things felt uncomfortable. "You 'ave never been dis vay, even drunk…"_

"_No I ain't __**drunk**__!" Alfred snapped. He leaned forward, planting a kiss behind Ivan's left ear. "But, I did it…" he whispered, tickling Ivan's neck with his breath. "We flew…"_

_Ivan's eyes grew wide. He was suddenly __**very**__ awake, all fatigue from the day forgotten. "Vhat?"_

_Alfred nodded enthusiastically, lacing his fingers behind Ivan's neck and leaning back in his lap. "They did it! It was the most __**amazing**__ thing I've ever seen!" _

"_Vhere? How?" Ivan asked keenly_

"_In North Carolina! Never thought that state would do much, but it was…it was… God, it was like…I knew this was big, like bigger than I could imagine, but it just felt…like fun…like I was enjoying myself just watching it. We chased them down the hill as they flew. They stayed in the air for like…a full minute. Can you believe that? Fifty-seven-full-seconds!"_

_Ivan smiled warmly; a smile that held more warmth than he'd ever actually felt. It was nice to see something as bright and happy as Alfred after such a long day trying to ward off the spreading prejudice in his country. "I am happy for you…" he said honestly._

_Alfred grinned brighter. "Really?"_

_Ivan nodded and grabbed the back of Alfred's head, leading him back forward to kiss again. It had been good the first time; Ivan didn't want to think tonight. _

_Alfred grinned and pressed himself against the taller man, hugging his arms around the large frame and squeezing a little. He had never kissed like this. Mattie would give him little cheek kisses when they'd been children, Arthur would have kissed his forehead as a child, and Francis had pecked him a few times during the revolutionary, but they'd been nothing; just family affections. _

_This was much more familiar. It was much more...real. _

_He laced his fingers through Ivan's hair and took a deep breath through his nose, inhaling his scent. Ivan gasped for breath and Alfred invaded his mouth vehemently. _

_Ivan was taken aback. He was pretty new to this stuff too, but he wasn't at all nervous about it. Granted, Prussia had sized his vital regions more than one time, France had tried to take his capital, and Ivan had taken a lot of Polish land by force, but…none of that was out of affections and none of it had called for gentle things like kissing…_

_He wasn't used to real emotions behind these things. Katyusha had kissed his forehead when he was younger and Natalia had tried several times to kiss him across the mouth, but other than that, this was completely different. _

_He'd silently relished Alfred's taste as the American's tongue smoothly massaged the inside of his mouth. Ivan kissed back, following Alfred's motions and mirroring them perfectly. _

_Alfred gripped tighter into Ivan's hair, moaning deeply in the back of his throat. He inched forward, rubbing against the Russian in a manner that his former caretaker would deem 'inappropriate'._

_Ivan put his hands on the American's thighs, wondering just how far he wanted to take this… Judging from his excitement, he wanted to go all the way…_

_Alfred had begun writhing uncomfortably in his lap while he contemplated this. He broke their lips apart. "Bedroom?" _

"_D-da…" Ivan panted. He gently pushed the American up and led him to master bedroom. They collapsed into the soft crinkling sheets, arms and legs entwined as they went down on each other. _

_The rolled over and over, hands roaming freely, searching out sensitive points on each others' bodies. Alfred giggled once or twice at a ticklish place. Ivan had sensitive spots behind his knees and ears and around his neck. _

_They nipped, bit, sucked, licked, kicked, scratched, moaned, pressed, arched, dipped, growled, writhed, thrust, gripped, even humped once or twice. _

_Neither one would call it love, but it was the closest they could get at the time. In the morning, something would happen to fuck it all up…it was inevitable. But, for the night, they could just celebrate and forget. _

_They woke up, stark naked, limbs entwined. Ivan gained consciousness first, but he laid still, letting the smaller nation sleep in for as long as he could. He watched the American sleeping serenely. He'd never seen a country so peaceful…_

_When Alfred finally woke, he sat up and rubbed his eyes open. Ivan sat up as well, disentangling their legs. He took one look at Alfred and giggled into the back of his hand. _

"_What?" the American demanded._

"_Your…hair," Ivan giggled childishly. It was sticking up at weird angles and flipping out and in and left and right. _

_Alfred laughed, "Yours is no better, buddy!" he said, ruffling Ivan's light blonde hair._

_Ivan rolled his eyes, smiling. "Last night…did ve really…?" he said, smile fading slowly. He hoped Alfred would make nothing of it, try not to put too much meaning into it…_

_Alfred went silent. He looked back at the Russian. What were they supposed to call themselves now…? Allies? It didn't seem to fit. Sure they'd helped each other out in a war or two, but it wasn't like either of them would ever go out of their way just to be there for the other... _

_Nevertheless, they did sleep together last night. Alfred sighed, falling over and laying his head in Ivan's lap, cocking a knee up and staring up into calming lavender eyes. "We did…and it was amazing."_

…

Alfred groaned and bashed head forehead into the side of the coffee table. He was on his hands and knees, back on his jet back to the airport in Wyoming. He hadn't even made it to his chair.

The shuttle launch was over. There was a strange emptiness that followed it.

England had come to watch it with him, so had Francis and Matthew. It was comforting to have family there, especially since they were all on such good terms now. After all those wars, switching alliances, dividing properties, bickering, clawing, scratching, and punches thrown, it seemed pointless to argue over old grievances.

It had taken two-hundred years, but Arthur and Alfred's relationship had completely resolved itself sometime in the sixties. There was still only a little tension from England leaving America alone in Vietnam and not sending enough troops to aid him, but Alfred could forgive it.

Alfred hadn't slept in three days and coffee just wasn't cutting it anymore. He needed to get some rest on the ride home before he got back to the house in Wyoming. Like hell _Ivan_ would let him sleep in his own bed…

He was _way_ too on-edge to sleep though. Especially after that memory that had just come back. Why did he have to remember everything they had said…? God, it was the best sex he'd ever had.

Sure, Arthur had been gentler later in 64, but it had somehow felt wrong. There were way too many memories that conflicted with England…it felt like doing your own mom…

He rubbed his forehead after beating it into the table, and pushed himself up on trembling arms to sit himself in his recliner.

He couldn't let this get to him. He had spent the last seventy years hating the Commie. He couldn't just let all those wars go. All the bloodshed for democracy…

Why had he let his enemy into his house- then left him there? This was fucking with his brain. He couldn't think straight. What if Ivan had begun spreading communism and propaganda in America again?

He buzzed in the flight attendant. She took her time before entering. He was staring silently at the wall, an immediate sign for concern. Alfred was _silent_. "Sir?"

"Will you bring in the Melatonin?" he said stiffly. He had deep, black bags under his eyes and his hands were trembling with fatigue.

She nodded and rushed off.

…

It was past dinnertime already by the time Alfred pulled in the gravel driveway. He drove down the long strip up to the actual concrete driveway and opened his garage door. He rubbed his head as he unlocked the basement door and let himself inside. He yawned and climbed the stairs.

He'd spent the last two nights in his house in Florida, and while it was comfortable in his own house, he still hadn't gotten a wink of sleep, worrying about what Ivan might be doing to his Midwest…

The first thing Alfred realized was just how _cold_ it had gotten in this house. The air conditioner must have kicked on and broken again…

"…paroyou strosal datve~" he heard as he stepped into the mudroom and kicked off his shoes. "…scravavou nepre shatshe ye polie~…" it continued. Someone was singing in the kitchen…it was really dark…kinda creepy actually. Alfred stopped and listened, pressing his ear against the door. "nevzenmunlashul polegre cagdata…aprevrete les belejulavli~"

The American feared the worst as the Russian began humming. What if Ivan was performing some sort of dark ritual in there, and if he stepped through into the kitchen, he would see dead bodies hanging from the ceiling by their bloody ankles? What if their arms were cut off and Ivan was cooking them into a stew? Oh God! What if Ivan tried to make him _eat it?_

Alfred was having a small panic attack on the back side of the door.

The Russian coughed briefly on the other end, then continued his singing…rather _chanting_… "Anidase parisve muon syadali…lesati padayutnam galasa…" he sang, the tempo swaying pleasantly yet darkly. "Nyepata moi nackchas epichana…mue zamaka yu glatsa nebesa…mmmm…mmmmmm…"

He started humming again and Alfred lost it. He plowed through the door, curiosity getting the best of him. He stopped in his tracks and screamed shrilly as he took in the scene.

Ivan was stirring a large pot over his stove. His hands were dark red and his face was smeared with the same color. He stopped humming darkly and turned around. A red knife was held calmly in the other hand. "Ah…Amerika…" he said, smiling.

Alfred put his arms up in front of him, lifting a leg to help protect his torso.

"Vhat is it?" the Russian said curiously. "Are you hungry?"

"What the fuck are you doing?" Alfred cried. Ivan turned to his pot again and looked back at Alfred, confused. "Oh my _God_ you fucking monster!" the American said, balancing on his one leg. He was shivering from both fear and cold.

Ivan looked at him confused. "Vhat are you talking about, Amerika? You are _always_ hungry?"

"Not for flesh! My _God_!" Alfred screamed. Ivan quirked an eyebrow. He glanced down at his red-stained hands and the knife. He laughed. The fucker _laughed_! "What?" America demanded defensively.

Ivan caught his breath. "It vas cold in here, so I vas making borsch…" he said, grinning.

"So the…red is just…"

"Beets," Ivan confirmed.

Alfred dropped his hands hesitantly. He wasn't sure if he could believe Ivan yet, but now that he looked closer, the red was more…purplish really. The American relaxed and let his leg drop back down. "Oh…" he sighed. "You could'a just turned off the air conditioner…" he muttered.

Ivan chuckled to himself. "I never ate human flesh, Amerika. That was the Mongols…" his smile faded for a second, but returned quickly. "You should give me some credit."

"Yeah, well you used to be a crazy psycho…didn't you?" Alfred said hotly. Coming home to Russian chanting had freaked him out and injured his pride. He walked into the living room and turned up the thermostat.

Ivan didn't respond. He just turned around and grated some cabbage. Alfred hung his coat on the back of a kitchen chair and walked up behind the taller nation. Ivan had already dirtied up four pans and two plates. Alfred sighed and leaned against the counter.

"What was that you were just singing?" he questioned curiously.

"Zhuravli."

"English please?" Alfred scoffed.

"It is about the Soviet soldiers I lost during the war with Germany…" Ivan replied calmly.

Alfred sighed. "Why're you singing that?"

"I sang in Russian many times while you were gone. It felt better on my throat."

"Well, thanks for waiting till I left," Alfred laughed. Ivan didn't see the need to retort to that, so he just dumped the shredded lettuce into the brew. "Where did you get all these supplies anyway?" the American asked. "I took the only car…"

"I followed the road," Ivan said simply. "There vas an outdoor market vhere farmers were selling their crops. I borrowed your money."

"What!" Alfred said, turning around. He kept three hundred dollars in a safe in each house, but they were hidden behind paintings or photographs. "How'd you get-?"

"Making your combination the same digits as the year you gained independence is very obvious, Amerika," Ivan said simply, smiling to himself. He stirred the lettuce into the soup and put the lid on it to let it simmer for five minutes.

Alfred sighed. He didn't even ask what the damage was. It didn't matter right now. "You were supposed to be resting. Why did you walk ten miles to the farmer's market?"

"I vas feeling better," the Russian said calmly, ruffling Alfred's hair as he walked through the kitchen to the sitting room.

"Well, I guess that's a good thing," Alfred said, following the taller nation. He plopped down on his couch, propping his feet up on the arm rests. Ivan sat in the armchair and folded his hands in his lap. Alfred was surprised at how calm he was being. Maybe spending three days alone in his house had been very…therapeutic for the Russian.

At least he wasn't fussing to go home. In fact, he was being good company…

"_I guess that means Kiku can still come over on Wednesday…_" Alfred thought to himself happily.

Alfred was dozing off on the couch when the timer beeped and Ivan stood. The chair creaked loudly and Alfred woke up. He rubbed his eyes and sat up. "Ruski?"

Dishes were clanking in the kitchen. Alfred threw his feet over the side of the couch and stood up. He walked into the kitchen and sat in his favorite chair. Ivan put a bowl of the hearty soup on the table in front of him. "Eat as much as you like," he said, smiling. "There is plenty."

Alfred looked up at him, "Who are you and what did you do that Commie bastard?" he said in awe. When had this guy gotten so _nice_?

Ivan frowned. "I am not communist anymore, Amerika. In fact, ve are making large steps to becoming an electoral democracy in 2012…"

Alfred popped his spoon into his mouth, wincing when his tongue got burnt.

"Da…it is hot…"

"Thank you for telling me!" Alfred snapped sarcastically.

Ivan just shrugged. He blew on his spoonful and ate in silence. Alfred followed his example and ate slower. When he'd finished his first bowl, he got up and poured himself another. Ivan grinned, "You like it," he observed.

"I do _not_."

"Then vhy are you eating more?" Ivan demanded skeptically.

"Because it's good. Don't mean I like it," Alfred snapped. Ivan laughed through his nose and ate another spoonful. Alfred frowned, exasperated. "Like…seriously. You take all the food I hate, put it together, and somehow it tastes delicious…" he said, adding some salt.

"Da. It is good for you as well."

"I hate you so much," Alfred said, letting a smile spread over his face.

* * *

><p><em>The song Ivan was singing was Журавли by Марк Бернес <em>. _You can watch it on Youtube. The lyrics in there are just my rough translation into english syllables...just from how it sounds, so it's not perfectly accurate. It's just how Alfred would hear it, walking in on it. _

_Sorry bout the minor USUK in there. It was cannon for that time period. So, it had to be mentioned._

_Review please?_


	6. Why We Can't be Friends

_I'm surprised at how easy it's become to write for this story… Like I can write 4000 word chapters with no problem… but that would be torture to read, so I'll keep it 3000 and under ahaha…_

_I'm trying to keep it entertaining and informative. But, that requires me doing research before writing. So…yeah, things might not always be completely accurate, but you can believe pretty much everything I put in here, like how long the first flight was, Russia's current political position, the meaning of the word 'Ruski', a lot of the history…etc._

_P.S. This is set in the present day when Russia is just a common country. He's not like…trying to seize all the land around him like he was in the 1800s and he isn't the Soviet Union like he was through the 1900s. He's just…Ivan. I don't think he'd be so psycho anymore…a little creepy, but not like…bloodthirsty._

* * *

><p>Song-<p>

'Nothing and Everything' by RED

And yes you should listen to it while reading. It sets the proper mood.

* * *

><p>Ivan had had a lot of time to think. Three days staring at a ceiling fan tended to get the gears in one's head moving off track. He thought a lot about his past. He thought about his mistakes and the seldom occasions where something had gone <em>right<em>.

He didn't want to admit it, but he had lost. Alfred was the only superpower left on earth. They had a rocky past, but as countries, it was their job to do what was best for their people. If America was the most powerful country on earth now, it was his job to befriend him.

He tipped the bowl back and drank the broth of his borsch. Alfred was finishing off his third bowl. He'd probably go back for more. Ivan didn't care. Seeing the American again was reminding him how difficult this would be.

What kind of idiot mistakes beets for blood?

Alfred would _never_ be able to be comfortable around Ivan anymore. Maybe eighty years ago, but not now. Not after everything that had happened.

...

_February 1945-_

"_I vant dis half…" Ivan insisted. "I fought hardest. I lost de most men." He smiled pleasantly._

"_No way in hell," Alfred snapped, glaring that the taller country. They were allies still…sort of. The Soviet Union's communist government was highly looked down-upon in America, and Alfred could hardly believe that Ivan was just going along with Stalin's agendas. He'd always thought more of Russia. When Ivan had spoken of political changes and his new government he wanted…Alfred had never suspected that __**this**__ was what he meant…_

"_You do not have final say, __**Alfred**__," Ivan growled. The American was always getting in the way. Ivan just wanted what was best for his people. The more land he could claim, the more resources and the right power. That was the rule in Europe…_

"_Alright, well...I have the feeling Arthur's with me on this," Alfred countered._

_The smaller British man stepped over and looked up at the Russian. "We'll split the property into four parts. France will get a tenth and the three of us will split the remainder evenly. It's perfectly fair." He seemed rather proud of his compromise._

"_How's that fair to France?" Alfred demanded. _

"_Because, he demands a large sum of money as reimbursement."_

"_Fair enough," Alfred said, shrugging._

"_So it's all agreed upon?" the tawny British man clarified. _

_Alfred nodded. Ivan hesitated, but he signed the parchment as well. Germany and Prussia were tied up in a corner of the room. The three allies drew closer, ready to divide their territory. _

…

_1945-1946_

_Alfred was terrified. He watched and re-watched the recordings over and over again until his eyes glazed over. So much damage…so much…destruction…_

_He'd used it on Japan… Was there really no way out of the pacific war? Was that really the answer? Why did his own decision feel so…torn?_

_What had he created? This would change the world. Now, instead of shooting a person or bombing a building or flank of soldiers…he could obliterate an entire city in one swipe… Was he ready for the implications of this?_

…

_Ivan saw the same videos. He didn't sleep for weeks. He __**needed**__ that kind of power. It was the perfect shield to hide behind…artificial isolation. No one would ever threaten what was his again…not the Mongols, not France, nobody…_

_He watched the video, trying to pick it apart. He'd put a spy in on the 'Manhattan Project' as the Americans called it. He would have this capability himself soon enough…_

_There was a loud banging at the window and he jumped. He scattered the papers in doing so. Cursing under his breath, he bent over and stacked them, pushing them under a folder and shutting off the tape. _

_He answered the door to a wet, frozen America. Alfred bustled inside without a proper invitation. He plopped down on the worn leather armchair from many years ago. _

"_Vhat a pleasant surprise," Ivan said coldly._

_Alfred frowned. When had that voice become so unfamiliar? Ivan might as well be a different person. "Yeah…well, I came to talk about something that I hope will interest you," he said, glancing around the room. His eyes wandered over to a desk with folders and books scattered all over it. He stood and walked nonchalantly to the desk. "Of Mice and Men'? 'To Kill a Mockingbird'?" he said, reading two familiar titles. "Taken an interest in my literature have we?"_

"_Interesting plots," Ivan said, forcing a smile. It had become a habit lately._

_Alfred sighed. "Yeah…I'd imagine they are for you. The thirties were shit for me…bet you loved every minute of um…"_

"_Ancient history."_

"_Ten years ago actually."_

_Ivan rolled his eyes. He watched the American closely as he set down the copies and kept his eyes on the desk. Ivan's heart stopped. Alfred picked up the manila folder, reading the notes hidden under them. The American was silent. He lifted the papers, files, photographs. They were stacked neatly and curled downward as he read them. _

"_Ah…those are-"_

_Alfred set down the stack. He removed his glasses and rubbed his forehead in thought. "Ivan…is this because __**I**__ got there first?" he said carefully._

"_Nyet."_

"_Well…you realize why this can't happen?" he clarified, tapping his fingers over the papers._

"_No," Ivan said, challenging the American to continue. _

_And he did, "These weapons will change warfare, Ivan. If we're not careful…they might end the world. Do you want to take this road?"_

"_I do not intend to use them, Alfred. I simply vant to protect vhat is mine. __**You**__ vill not be the only one with these weapons. Others vill follow soon enough. I vill not be left behind."_

_Alfred fell back into the armchair. "Ivan…what if I got rid of them…?"_

"_Vhat?"_

"_I want to destroy them. The whole arsenal." Alfred closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair. It smelled more and more like cigarettes in here every day. "I want to erase this entire thing from history before it can even happen. I never wanted to go there. I didn't intend for this…I didn't even do it to have a leg-up on everyone. I just wanted to stop fighting with Japan…"_

_Ivan was staring at him, speechless and furious._

_"But, I'm not going to leave myself unprotected if you're planning on gaining nuclear capabilities. So…if I destroy all my nukes. Will you promise to never make any…to never even try?" Alfred said hopefully. he knew that if Ivan was trying to make nukes, he'd probably succeed soon enough...no matter how much he wished he wouldn't. He opened his eyes to see Ivan glaring at him._

"_You are truly an idiot," the Russian growled. "No one vill ever threaten you again. You could get your way in any fight…you people vill always be safe…"_

_Alfred stood angrily. "They'll be safer if this type of technology didn't exist!" he spat. "You said it yourself. Others will get ahold of nukes too! What if one of my enemies got ahold of them? What if Germany had had these things just five years ago? __**You**__ would probably be dead!" he shouted._

"_You cannot take back vhat you have already done!" Ivan said, voice rising. "There is no going back on it, Alfred! You made a commitment to your people and to the world order vhen you dropped that first nuke on Hiroshima. It is a competition now…between those who can make shadows permanent, melt buildings, and make glass drip from the sky like rain."_

_Alfred glared at him. "You stubborn bastard… You could never let things be easy could you? I'd bet **every other** country would agree with me in this, but **you've** just got to dig your feet in the ground."_

"_I am not stopping you. Destroy your arsenal if you so wish. But I vill create weapons for the sake of my people."_

"_To keep them safe?"_

"_Da."_

"_Safe from what?" Alfred shouted, balling his fists. "Me?" _

_They both paused and stared at each other. Ivan would never admit to being afraid of America. But, Alfred could see it in his eyes. Russia was afraid that America would act rashly and attack with nukes to stop the spread of communism. Alfred was offended. He'd been seen as **strong** before…but he'd never been seen as **dangerous**. _

_Alfred tensed. "Ivan I-" he leaned forward, letting his head fall into the crook of the taller man's neck. "I'm not stupid. I can tell that you hate me. But…don't think I'm immature… I'm not treating this like a game. I know what it means…we need to come to some sort of an agreement. No one should have the power to destroy the human race, right?"_

_Ivan could tell that Alfred was trying not to let this turn into a fight. He lowered his shoulders to make himself smaller. He put an arm around the smaller man's back. "Of course." _

_Alfred straightened up. "So…we agree that the ultimate goal is to keep everyone safe in this. I know you're not crazy about the UN, but we kinda play by their rules right now, so…" _

_Ivan was hardly paying attention to the American's words. He was watching him talk more than anything; watching his lips move. He suddenly wanted to be kissed, and that wasn't likely to happen. It would be a victory if it did. He wasn't sure how, but if he could get Alfred to kiss him he would be winning somehow._

Alfred continued, "_So I was thinking that we make some laws. Put up some safeguards. We've gotta actually __**enforce**__ these laws too…like we can't let things slide, cause slips of hand aren't options with nuclear power…not when the stakes are this high. I mean like __**no**__ vetoes between you and me especially…"_

_Ivan closed a few inches of space between them. It had been so long since they had done anything. Alfred just kept going on and on about UN procedures as if he didn't notice Ivan moving to touch his neck. _

"_And there will have to be inspections of course…" Alfred was saying._

_Ivan halted, halfway through kissing behind the American's ear. "UN officers then?" he demanded, a knot of anger forming in his stomach. The UN was always in his business…_

_Alfred shifted uncomfortably. It wasn't like he hadn't noticed what Ivan was trying to do, cupping his cheek like that. And he wasn't impartial to it himself. He had to be careful if he wanted this to get anywhere. "Well…yeah…I mean…you **are** part of the UN. If you have a better idea…?" he said, playing with a lock of the taller man's hair._

"_Well…the UN is filled with your allies…isn't that unfair…?" he reasoned, speaking softly into Alfred's ear._

_The American shuttered. "Didn't know we were such enemies that it would matter…besides it's not like I'm out to fuck anybody. I'm trying to cut you a deal."_

_Ivan smiled. 'Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me you idiot..._'_ He couldn't focus on much else. He didn't understand why he wanted it to happen so badly. "A deal that leaves me powerless and exposed? Vhat if you share the blueprints vith your allies? How can I trust you vill keep your end?"_

_Alfred blinked. They were silently at war with this kiss thing, weren't they? Whoever gave in first, would lose… But, Ivan was asking for clarification that he would be willing to keep the goodwill…_

_So Alfred leaned in and connected their lips gently. He opened his mouth and deepened it quickly and Ivan responded gratefully. They pressed together and a silent agreement tried to urge through them…it was intercepted somewhere along the way. Maybe a bad connection, or maybe just some static on the other line._

_They broke off. "So you vill destroy the nukes?" Ivan confirmed._

_Alfred nodded. "If you stop whatever program you're starting with this," he said, tapping the pile of notes. "No nukes."_

_Ivan frowned. "You first. I vill follow…"_

_Alfred stared at him. "What?"_

_"Destroy your nukes, then I vill agree not to make any."_

_"No…agree then I'll destroy them…"_

_"Set a good example if you are such a 'model country'…" Ivan demanded._

_"No! I'm not going to let you step on me the second you get a nuclear advantage!"_

_"You are being a child."_

_"No, I'm bein' smart!" Alfred snapped. _

_"You're trying to excuse yourself from the situation. **You** started this mess, so you must begin the movement to end it. If we are going to control this then we have to make sure that these nukes are in the proper hands."_

_Alfred glared at him. "Proper hands? I suppose you're talking about Stalin then?"_

_Something bolied under Ivan's skin. Was it his blood? God, he was angry. He wanted to strangle the American. He understood nothing. Stalin was a sadistic, evil tyrant. He tortured Ivan on a regular basis, taking pleasure in finding new ways to leave scars. But, despite all that…he was Ivan's boss. He couldn't change it._

_Alfred continued. "Why do you even want them? Nobody's going to attack you. We won the war, you've got half of Europe claimed as protection. The only person that could even **think** about attackin you is-" _

_"You," Ivan finished of him. _

_Alfred winced. Ivan didn't have very many strong arguing points, but there was that. "But I wouldn't…" _

_"Why?" Ivan demanded._

_Alfred was taken aback. "Because…because I care about you…" he admitted. It was the first time those words had passed either of their lips. "I would never…harm you in any way…I don't want to hurt **anyone**, especially not you…"_

"_Do not make choices through emotions. That is not enough," Ivan said firmly. _

_Alfred sighed. He might have been making a strong argument, but this was like trying to convince a wall to change colors by yelling at it. Alfred was ready to recognize a lost cause. He'd seen this sort of determination before. But, the civil war had been bloody and almost ripped him completely in two. If this was the beginning, then he had a bad feeling that they would never see the end of this war. Even if the fighting ended…the emotions behind it would never go away. _

_Some wars were short and easy to forgive, but this…this felt long. It was hard to bounce back after years of hostilities. Look at France and England. They'd fought nearly their whole lives. They still had trouble seeing eye to eye, but at least they were finally getting a little better…after seven-hundred years. _

_Alfred didn't know if he could wait that long to be back in the Russian's arms…_

…

Ivan sighed and plugged up the sink. He glanced over at the happily eating American. So many things had gone wrong that he doubted they could ever be fixed.

What if he could have just agreed to Alfred's deal back then? Would they have achieved world peace by now?

He closed his eyes, running the hot water with his hands lying listlessly in the sink. The water steamed and burnt his skin pink, but he didn't even care.

He wondered if an apology would be enough. He could never quite bring himself to do it. He didn't want to admit to feeling any guilt over the Cold War. And, Alfred acted like he was always so innocent. Every time Ivan considered trying to start the apologies, Alfred would act blameless and Ivan would get pissed off. They would just fight again.

But now he was here; in Alfred's home for the first time in almost a century. It was now or never.

* * *

><p><em>No translations this chapter.<em>

_Wow. So I'm going to go ahead and credit 'The Chosen End' on Livejournal. It's kinda my inspiration for this. It is amazing. Never read so much history in a fanfiction story~ _

_So yea…Take a vote. It's not happening next chapter yet, but when it does- who should apologize first? _

_If you ask me __**both**__ sides were at fault. Neither side handled the situation properly. I still believe the whole thing could've been avoided and that's what makes it fascinating. _

_Anything in italics is automatically in the past, but you'll have to read the context to see if it was one person's memory or dream. Otherwise it's just a universal flashback. Just there for the reader._

_Please Review?_


	7. Building Towers

_http:/library. thinkquest .org/10826/thaw. htm__ While doing research, this article said that Russia and America have been growing closer since 1991, over the last twenty years... The fangirl in me squealed. They __**can**__ mend their relationship! …And they __**will**__._

* * *

><p>Songs-<p>

'Life in Letters' by Lucy Schwartz

'Say it's Possible' by Terra Naomi

* * *

><p>Alfred passed out right after eating. It was almost ten o'clock anyway. He hadn't unpacked a thing. His bags were still sitting in the mudroom where he'd left them. Ivan kicked them over as he paced. He was tired of wandering about the house. He considered taking the car and leaving, but he really had no idea where he was to get himself home. He could call someone, but then they'd know he was here…<p>

The bag scratched against the tile as he kicked it across the floor. Something slid out the bulging side. Ivan silently wondered why Alfred would pack so much to be gone for four days. He picked up the object that had fallen.

It was a flash-drive.

Ivan glanced around his feet for the American's laptop case. He crawled over to it and unzipped it, warming it up. Alfred hadn't shut it down completely, so he didn't even need a password. Ivan snickered to himself as he pushed the flash-drive in the usb port.

He opened the computer's files and found the usb's information. He clicked and scrolled down a large mass of files on each country and American history. The last one added was filled with pictures from the shuttle launch.

He covered his mouth as he giggled at some of the photos. Alfred making obscene gestures at the cameraman with one arm over his twin, Arthur completely wasted- head dipped into a storm drain to be sick, Francis hugging his former charge with one arm over a half-naked-drunk British man. Then there were pictures of the actual launch, Alfred posing in front of the actual launch, Americans watching the actual launch, and the shuttle before the launch.

There was one picture that Alfred had tagged 'print 4 wall'. Ivan clicked on it. It seemed simple enough. To man standing and looking out over a crowd of people to watch the launch, but to the left the same men were watching again, only much younger. Ivan glanced at the dates. They'd seen the first launch then come back to see the last thirty years later. He didn't have to think very hard to wonder why Alfred would highlight this picture out of the ones of his people.

Ivan was going to close out of the file, but he stopped himself. If Alfred had files on all the countries…than he would have one on Russia as well…

He found his file and looked through the information and pictures. There were pictures of Gorbachev and Regan, most of the pictures of political figures were files on Stalin and Lenin. Alfred seemed obsessed with Stalin in a murderous sort of way…if you could kill a memory.

There were images and reports from the wars in Korea and Vietnam. There was a whole folder for pictures of tunnels used for guerrilla warfare in Vietnam. More pictures of protests in America, calling for an end to the war.

Ivan pulled out of that folder quickly. He snooped over to his own folder to see the images Alfred had of _him_ personally. Most were just pictures of Ivan with his bosses from world summits.

There was one or two that seemed like they might be incriminatingly flattering; pictures that Alfred had no reason to have. Then there was a scan of the photograph of the scars.

Ivan knew Alfred would have a copy. It still bothered him to see his own body so shamelessly exposed for the American's computer screen. He was sure that Alfred had the pictures for other countries as well…that fact didn't help though.

Ivan pulled the flashdrive from the computer, putting it back to sleep.

"What the hell are ya doin' Ruski?" a voice shouted from two rooms away. Ivan jumped to his feet. He expected Alfred to barge into the mudroom and snatch away his computer, but nothing happened.

Ivan walked out through the kitchen to the living room where Alfred had passed out earlier. The America was sprawled out listlessly on the couch, muttering in his sleep. Ivan shrugged, figuring that Alfred must've just been having a nightmare and called out his name; it probably had something to do with human flesh soup.

The Russia rolled his eyes and Alfred's leg kicked uselessly. Ivan giggled, immediately relating the American's motion to a sleeping puppy. He leaned over and gathered up Alfred's limbs and carried him back into his bedroom. He placed him down in his bed carefully and tossed the blankets up over him.

…

The next morning, Alfred slept in until far past noon. He didn't even question how he'd gotten in his bed. He tried to ignore the fact that it smelled so much like Russia.

It had gotten warm again with the air conditioner off. A heat wave was on its way into America's Midwest. He ate a few bowls of sugary cereal and read the newspaper. The curtains of to the kitchen windows were drawn back so the sun shown in brightly. There was a lazy Sunday-morning type attitude in the air.

Alfred sipped at his coffee while he read. "My _**God**_ Iggy…" he muttered in frustration.

"Vhat is wrong?" Ivan questioned. He was carefully stacking the American's Jenga blocks into a tall tower…out of sheer boredom. One or two had fallen into Alfred's cereal when the tower had lost balance and tipped.

"Iggy's fining my president again," Alfred said casually, he slurped on his spoon. "He used to do this all the time like twenty years ago. Somethin' bout holding up traffic in London with his presidential entourage…"

"Vhat a large word you used…entourage," Ivan teased idly. He placed another block on the tower, turning it vertically- long ways so it would be taller.

"Shut up," Alfred said plainly, not really caring. "Why does he always have to pick out every little thing that we do over there…aren't we in enough debt?"

"He does that to everyone," Ivan said calmly. Another block. "Prick," he added coldly. England would never be very high on Ivan's list of 'friends'.

Alfred looked up at the Russian. The tower had grown so tall that Ivan had had to stand up to continue. Alfred set down his paper, drank up the last of the milk in the bottom of the bowl, and slammed his fist down on the table.

The tower tipped over, making loud clacking noises as the little wooden blocks fell. Ivan's arms dropped to his sides indolently. "Fuck you…" he muttered apathetically.

Alfred shrugged and took a sip from his coffee mug and capped it. "It's a kid's game, man. And you're playin it wrong."

"Didn't know I vas playing," Ivan replied smartly.

Alfred leaned back in his chair, tipping it onto two legs so it creaked in protest. "I'm boorreed…" he whined. He turned to the Russian. "Say something interesting."

"Cлабоумный," Ivan said calmly, ignoring the blocks scattered across the kitchen and pulling up a chair.

Alfred sighed and leaned forward again, nestling his chin in his arms. "I already know that means 'idiot', so you can stop using it."

"You are learning," Ivan said in mock appraisal.

"Fuck off…"Alfred muttered, tilting his head away so he didn't see Ivan's face anymore. "How long are you gonna stay anyway?" he demanded.

The Russian just shrugged. He hadn't really considered leaving for some reason. If he went home, he'd be alone- as usual. At least here, he had company…even if it was _poor_ company.

Alfred wasn't really trying to drive him out. He was just surprised that Ivan hadn't called in a jet already. He had been _begging_ to go home just a few days ago. "Well…we should go do something," Alfred finally decided. He was growing stir-crazy already.

"Vhat do you suggest?" Ivan said carefully…he was almost afraid to ask.

Alfred sighed. He'd kinda been hoping that the Russian would have an idea. There wasn't much to do in Wyoming. There weren't many people, and where there were, they were usually pretty quiet. There were a few good places to get some real western cooking, but they were remote and probably empty. Alfred was tired of being alone with the Russian.

"I could use a Mocha Frappe from Micky-D's…" he muttered.

Ivan rolled his eyes. "You just _drank_ coffee, Amerika."

Alfred shrugged despondently. "Just an idea…"

Ivan stared at the American. He looked like a kicked puppy. Ivan sighed and rubbed his forehead. There was a time that he would've loved to see Alfred look so dejected, but now he only felt sympathy. Boredom was depressing in itself. "Alright…we can go, if you'd like…" Ivan relented.

The American's head shot up. "Really? You wanna go?"

"Well, I vouldn't say I _vant-_"

"Awesome!" Alfred said, leaning over and grabbing Ivan's wrist, pulling him around the table. The Russian gave little resistance.

…

Alfred ordered some food, even though he'd _just_ eaten three or four bowls of cereal. The smell of this place was making Ivan feel a bit nauseous again, but he held it down and watched while the American ate happily.

Now that he thought about it, Alfred seemed happiest when eating lately. It had gotten worse over the last fifty years, since this phase of fast food had started. The food really _wasn't_ good, Ivan mused. Why did it make Alfred so happy? Maybe it was just because he'd made it so iconic of who he was?

Ivan absently nibbled on a French fry while the American ate down another burger. He'd ordered two caramel-mocha frappes.

Ivan figured one must be for him, so he picked out up and sipped at it idly. Alfred had some ketchup on his cheek that he didn't really notice. Instead of just saying something, Ivan picked up a napkin and dabbed it off.

The American froze- mouth still full of food. He swallowed roughly. "What the hell, Ruski?"

"You had ketchup."

"Ya coulda just told me," he snapped, cheeks flushing slightly.

'_Hm…he doesn't like being embarrassed in public…'_ Ivan mused, smirking. "You vould've just left it," he said calmly.

"Naw, I woulda wiped it off on my sleeve at least…"

"Disgusting…"

Alfred shot the Russian a glare and buried his face back into his food.

Ivan sighed. He hadn't eaten yet today, not finding Lucky Charms particularly appetizing. His stomach was growling. If Alfred heard it, he'd probably force-feed him. So, he grabbed a cheeseburger and took a bit off the side.

Alfred stared at him. He hadn't expected that _Ivan_ would eat anything. "I've got an idea…" he said suddenly. Ivan looked at him. "We should go to Chicago."

"Vhat?" Ivan demanded, confused and a little skeptic.

"Totally," Alfred said, eyes lighting up. "Just for a day. Then we'll go to Philly…then we should go to D.C. and New York…" he was tapping his chin while talking.

Ivan just stared at him. "Why?"

"Cause, they've got awesome food and there's stuff to do!"

"I thought you didn't vant anyone to see me in your homeland."

"Well…yeah…but…" Alfred said, voice fading off. He looked around at the people in the McDonalds they were currently eating in. He took a sip of his frappe. "Well, all the people _here_ have already seen you, so it's too late for that…"

"I do not think it's the same thing, Amerika…"

"I can disguise you then!

…

"This is probably one of your most stupid ideas…" Ivan droned. He was standing in front of the mirror, wearing a long red hoodie that must've been five or six sizes too large for the American to be owning.

"Nuh-uh!"

"Ah, maybe not. That acoustic cat you tried to spy on me with might've been your dumbest. Didn't it get hit by a car or something?" he laughed.

Alfred huffed. "Well, it's better than that Tsar Tank you tried to make. How could you not know it would get stuck in mud? You can't build a tank with wheels that big…"

Ivan turned away, cheeks flushing. "At least I didn't put explosives in pancake mix…"

"Hey! Aunt Jemima was a success!"

"Do you ever think of anything but food?" Ivan smirked.

Alfred folded his arms over his chest. "It still worked…" he muttered.

Ivan just grinned. His pants felt a bit tight, but he insisted on wearing long pants. Alfred hadn't questioned it, knowing how many scars Ivan had from the Mongols. He _did_ allow the American to take his scarf off, but he had scars there too, so he wore a high collar.

Alfred never shied from Ivan's past wounds. They were countries. They _all_ had them. Sometimes, they could hide them to fit in, in public and other places, easier. But, around other nations, there was no need to…unless it was a mistake…but it couldn't be helped in that case.

Alfred packed up some extra clothing and called in his jet. It would arrive in twenty minutes. So, he worked on packing up his essentials. "Hey, Commie? Where's my flashdrive? You seen it?"

"Did you look in your suitcase?" Ivan said carefully.

"Ah, no…forgot…brb."

Ivan watched him rush off to the mud room for the third time. If they were going on a trip, he should try and make friends of the American. He wasn't being _too_ overbearingly insufferable lately. It wasn't that Alfred had _ever_ been _insufferable_…he was just…different.

Most of the time, when a nation was powerful, their egos stretched alarmingly fast like it had for Rome. Alfred was the same way…almost to a tee. It was almost disturbing how much he acted like that old man from the legends.

But there was another side of Al that was much more humble.

Both he and the Roman Empire had lost wars before. The only difference was the reaction afterwards. When Rome lost a war, he only _increased_ his morale. The old man had issues accepting the reality that he had lost. Alfred on the other hand…let it spread throughout the country. He let his people hate him…for as long as they needed. In the end, they would always come back.

So, Alfred continued being in love with himself. He'd always been alone in the world because of his status as a superpower. Other countries would make petty jabs about it. Other nations' people would pick on his culture and ego, but it didn't matter. Alfred would pop right back up and say something stupid again and it wouldn't matter, because he was on the top of the stack. The others were just jealous.

And Ivan **could** get jealous over this. Alfred had gotten the isolation that Russia had always wanted. He was safe. His land was his own, and this circumstance showed no signs of changing.

All Ivan had ever wanted was security. He wanted to know that what he owned was _his_ and no one would change that. But, living in Eurasia…that was always an impossibility.

Nukes had fixed that for him. He felt pretty confident about the holding of his borders now. And, if he made strong allies of America…they would be impenetrable.

They could keep each other sane. If one tried to overstep their power and started harassing other countries, then the other could always put them in their place; just as Alfred had done when Ivan had been bullying Israel a hundred years ago.

Alfred rushed back in, carrying two suitcases. "Okay, all ready?"

* * *

><p><em>The photograph for Alfred's wall was, of course, the one of Kenneth and Chris Bray at the two launches. The internet went <em>_**crazy**__ over that picture. So I figured Alfred would hang it up somewhere in his house._

_The Mayor of London fined Obama $200 for holding up traffic in his city…yeah…I know._

_And have you ever had a Mocha Frappe from McDonalds? …it's like you died and went to heaven…I swear..._

_Road Trip anybody? _

_Ima bring in sum more characters soon. Real soon. Hopefully. _

_I just love these two's interactions…so many opportunities~_

_More people should ship this pairing. It's totally cuter than USUK and it makes more sense…(to me at least) I mean these guys've got _**history**_. It might not __**always**__ be good history, but they've had that too._


	8. Bugbite Leprosy

_I hate grammer. _

_I write these chapters in like 2 hours and I don't have a Beta to check my work. (Not that I'm not eligible, just didn't want one…)_

_So if I spell things wrong or miss punctuation, please notify me. _

_This chapter is so fucking fluffy… _

* * *

><p><em>Songs (depending on what mood u wanna read with- if you even read with these things)<em>

_'Happiness' by the Fray_

_'Middle of Nowhere' by Hot Hot Heat_

_or_

_'So Contagious' by Acceptance_

* * *

><p>"It <em>itches<em>~!" Alfred whined.

"Nyet!" Ivan snapped, slapping the shorter man's hand away from his face. "Do not scratch it!"

"Hurrrggghh…" America groaned.

"It vas _your_ idea to go to Jackson Park."

"Bug bitessss…."

"Leave it!"

"Ah…it's bleeding…" Alfred said in wonder.

"Rлупый Aмериканский…" Ivan muttered, shaking his head in shame.

The two were seated on a bridge in the Osaka Garden in Jackson Park, Chicago, legs hanging over the side. Alfred had already bought them food…again. He was currently working on a salted pretzel and some ice cream he'd gotten from a street vendor.

Ivan just propped his arms on a wooden brace and stared across the water at the Museum of Science and Industry. It was astounding how many buildings in America were built off that Greek and Roman style. Just another way Alfred was like that old Rome guy.

Alfred glanced over at the Russian man as a small family passed over the bridge behind them. The American laughed. "Hey, Ruski…"

Ivan turned and made eye-contact. "Vhat?"

"If ya didn't have an accent, I'd think you were American~!" he laughed.

"Are you mocking me?"

Alfred snorted. "How could that be _mocking_? Hell, that's a _compliment_!" he said, playing with the sleeve of Ivan's thin, red hoodie. "You look nice…normal."

Ivan just shrugged and put his chin against the railing. "Vhere are we going next?"

Alfred bunched up the paper wrapping from his pretzel and pulled his legs up over the side of the bridge. "Hm…" he said, thinking. "It'll be getting late soon. We should go play some baseball…" Ivan looked over at Alfred. "You like baseball, right? All the little immigrants that would come over from the Soviet Union used to be _obsessed_ with it…they would run off with the balls when someone hit a home run…and we could never finish our games…they would steal them all…"

Ivan just shrugged. "Alright. But, after dat, ve should go to Buckingham Fountain. I've always vanted to see the light show."

Alfred suddenly spat in his hand. "Deal?" he said, holding it out.

Ivan stared at him, disgusted.

The American looked down at his hand and back and the Russian. "Oh…it's a spit-shake. You spit in _your_ hand then shake it…"

Ivan got to his feet and walked off.

"Nevermind then…" Alfred muttered, standing and trailing after the taller nation. It was really weird for the American to be seeing Ivan without his scarf. It had been a long time since he had…and the last time that he _had_…nevermind.

Maybe they should try and patch their relationship… Alfred considered this as they walked in silence. Ivan hadn't been a _total_ bitch to be around since the last launch. Maybe he was ready to apologize for Stalin and the Cuban Missile Crisis…

And besides, Russia's economy had only gotten _better_ over the past few years as everyone else's had declined…drastically… Russia would make a strong ally.

So…that decided it! At least, in Alfred's mind it did. They would become friends-

Again.

Suddenly, someone plowed into Alfred and knocked him to the ground. He landed on roughly on his tailbone.

Ivan turned, hearing the loud thump. A small child had run full-force into Alfred who was now laughing hysterically. He patted the kids head as the little boy stuttered apologies. A long white string had wrapped around his arms and head. Alfred sighed and began untangling the boy. "Where'd you get this kite?" Alfred wondered.

The little boy just pointed behind himself at a street stand where a Vietnamese woman was selling kites. Alfred ruffled the boy's hair and lifted the kid up out of his lap. The kid scampered away as quickly as he legs would take him.

Ivan sighed and walked over to help the American up. He held out a hand, but Alfred just shoved it away and brushed himself off indignantly. "Let's fly some fucking kites…" he said, dead serious.

Ivan just quirked an eyebrow as the American ran off to buy kites. What was wrong with him? Was he always this…peppy…?

Alfred returned and handed off a blue kite to the Russian. "I trust you know how to use this?" he said, grinning.

"Da…kites vere invented in China…after all," Ivan said, nodding.

…

Two hours later.

…

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Alfred panted, collapsing under the shade of a tall birch tree.

Ivan followed suit, arms straight out, falling backwards into the grass. It wasn't nearly as soft as snow, but it was fine.

Alfred had run around the park three or four times, trying to catch the wind just right. Ivan just stood in the same spot and slowly let the wind pick up around him and take the kite up effortlessly. He laughed at the American's struggling. But, he seemed to be enjoying himself, so Ivan didn't pick on it.

Now, Alfred was out of breath, and Ivan was highly amused. Whoever said the American was a boring host?

"Hey…Ruski?" Alfred breathed.

"Da?"

"Why do ya think that little boy ran off earlier…? He was being really…timid and polite…and…jumpy…"

"Ah, yes, your people are usually obnoxious and rude, da?"

Alfred punched the taller man's arm seriously. "No man…really?"

Ivan turned and looked at the American. "Vell…it could have something to do with your face…"

"Oh _no_ we are _not_ going here again. I'll sock you in the jaw again!" he said, holding up his fist.

Ivan laughed. "Nyet…no…you are covered in mosquito bites…you picked a few apart so you had scabs…"

Alfred's hand strayed to his face. "R-really…it's that scary-looking?"

Ivan smiled. "Da. I told you not to pick at them. Now, it just looks like you have leprosy."

Alfred landed another rough punch on the Russian. "Shut up! No one would ever be afraid of me!" he shouted. The _last_ thing he wanted to hear was that people were afraid of him. He never wanted _anyone_ to have to _fear_ him…not again…

Ivan stared at him seriously. "_I_ would be."

Alfred glared harder. Another thing he didn't want to hear. Twenty years ago, he hated Ivan _so much_. He wanted to kill him each and every time they were in the same room…or within fifty feet of each other.

But he wanted to fix all that. He _never_ wanted the USSR to fear America. He _never_ wanted to be feared as the bad guy.

Ivan was silent. He fiddled with the hood of the jacket. "Are you happy that I would fear you?"

Alfred's fists curled up tightly into his palms. "_Fuck you_…"

"Because personally, I vould be ecstatic," Ivan mused, sitting up against the tree.

"You're a fucking communist!"

"Nyet, I'm not anymore. I take it that you do not like being feared?"

"Damn you…so hard…I hate you so much…"

"You should…enjoy being feared that is" Ivan pushed. "It helps you hold your place in the vorld…"

"And why would you want me to? After everything…I thought you'd want me dead…right?" Alfred said, turning away angrily. "If I lost my place in the world, you'd be happy!"

Something about that started an angry knot in the bottom of Ivan's stomach. "Cмотреть y меня!" he shouted. Alfred looked up at him again. "I am happier _now_ than I _ever_ vas vhen I vas the Soviet Union…!"

"Well, the Cold War was no cup of tea for me either! Fuck, I'm talking like England!" the American shouted, rubbing his hands across his face. "Why do you piss me off so easily?"

Ivan grabbed the American's wrists, "Stop shouting!" he yelled. "People are going to start vatching!"

"_You _fucking started it!"

"Because you- …Augh!" he groaned. "Посхѕол тѕ! Hеблагодарный oтродье!"

Alfred kicked the Russian in the ankles. Earning some cheers from the small crowd of people who had gathered to watch. Alfred grinned; leave it to Americans to egg on a fight. "I know Russian curse words ya fucker!" he shouted.

"Good!" Ivan snapped. He was _glad_ Alfred understood the insult.

"I am _not_ a brat!"

"Anyone who could be unhappy in your position is a brat!"

"How? How do I got it good?" Alfred demanded, his southern accent peeking through in his anger. "I've gotta be the role model! I've gotta do what's right _all. the. time!_" he said, getting to his feet completely now. "How do you think that feels?"

"At least you have always felt secure! At least you never had to fend off Mongols or stubby French generals!"

Alfred almost laughed at the description of Napoleon, but he was too pissed to laugh right now. "Why would you care about my past? You hate me, remember! We've hated each other since 1945!"

Some of the crowd started walking away; this argument was getting too confusing for them.

"Nyet! You shouldn't care vhat others think of you. Just fight for your own survival! I don't hate you! I am simply frustrated that you do not realize the luxury you live in!"

"You're right! I _don't_ see the luxury…cause I'm out there fighting everyone else's wars for them!"

"No one ever _asked_ you to!"

"Bullshit!"

"Vell you don't have to! Even if you are pulled into a war, you can always refuse to fight!"

"I can't do that!"

"Vhy?"

"Cause I'm the _fucking_ hero!" Alfred shouted, once again out of breath.

"Stop acting like you are the _only_ one…"

Alfred just shook his head quietly. Ivan didn't understand. "I don't mean it like that. I just mean that it's my responsibility as a superpower! Why won't you get off my case already! What is it you're trying to get me to say? What is it you want from me?"

"All I want is to know that vhat is mine vill stay mine!"

"That's exactly what I'm aimin for. That's what everyone wants!"

"Then we should help each other," Ivan suggested. If their goal was the same…

"Maybe I will!" Alfred shouted back angrily.

Ivan balled up his fists crossly. "Did we just become Allies?"

"Yup!" Alfred shouted back.

They both paused and looked at each other. The air stayed tense for another second, but Ivan broke it and started giggling. Alfred cracked up as well. "Ah…that's good, I guess," he said.

"Da…you are a strong country. And, this is a world where you can be wiped off the map if you are not strong enough, da?"

Alfred smiled. "Yeah, and your economy is doin good…so…"

Ivan smiled back sweetly. "Da!"

"So…um…what then? Do we like kiss or shake hands or somethin?"

Ivan considered. Kissing would be too awkward. So, he spat in his hand and held it out.

Alfred grinned, relieved. He spat in his hand and they shook on it. "So…um, baseball?" Alfred said awkwardly.

Ivan smiled. "Da…"

…

"Hey-hey, Ruski!" Alfred shouted, catching the ball for the fifth time. Ivan hadn't hit a single throw.

"Vhat is it now, Amerika? Another stupid joke?"

"Ahaha, why was the crappy baseball team so hot?"

"I do not know."

"Cause they had no _fans_! Ya geddit?" Alfred said, cracking up until he was breathless for the third time that day.

"Da…I understand your pun. Throw the damn ball!"

Alfred did and Ivan missed, yet again. "Hey, Ruski? You wanna just go? This isn't really your game…I won't hold it over ya…" Alfred pleaded. Ivan was being stubborn. He hadn't let the American take a swing with the bat before he had hit at least one ball.

"Nyet! I vill hit dis one!"

"Okay…just…just imagine it's like hockey, only your swinging in the air…"

"It's _nothing_ like that!"

…

About another hour later, the two were walking back from Buckingham Fountain. Ivan had finally hit the ball and it had darted out of the grassy makeshift field they were playing in. Alfred had thrown some pennies in the fountain before leaving. "Does it _always_ light up red white and blue?" Ivan wondered.

Alfred shrugged. "They do different lights on different nights. Guess it's just patriotic for the month…" he said, hailing at taxi. "I've got a brownstone house in Lincoln Park. We can stay there for the night…"

* * *

><p><em>Translations…let's see if I catch them all.<em>

Rлупый Aмериканский – foolish American

Cмотреть y меня! – Look at me!

Посхѕол тѕ! Hеблагодарный oтродье!- Fuck you! Ungrateful brat!

* * *

><p><em>My <em>_God__ that got fluffy…and ended short. But, that's pretty much the two countries' current relationship. We're not at war with each other, so we've got no problem. _XD

_I'm watchin the old version of Captain America from like the seventies. We REALLY hated Russians...didn't we? _

_Not only is the bad guy (the Red Mask) a Russian, but he also had polio and became extremely deformed after being given the same procedure that Captain America had (but Captain America came out just fine)...then his daughter was a scary bitch...they both get throw off a massive cliff in Italy...yep._


	9. It's Ivan's Heart

_Kay, so I know I haven't updated in 3 DAYS! Oh my God! _

_Warnings- Ivan the Terrible ahead. A little bit of gore. Temporary loss of sanity. Alcohol use. Etc._

_More history this chapter, but I do my best to keep it brief. _

_But seriously people, you like HETALIA…at least sixty percent of that should be history related. If not, and you're only into the Hetalia fandom for the hot guys and sex, than shame on you- you fucking perverts…._

_Yeah…I'll just write another chapter and shut up._

* * *

><p>Songs-<p>

'Red Right Hand' by Nick Cave

'Save You' by Matthew Perryman Jones

'Seen enough' by Dryer

* * *

><p>Kiev was on fire.<p>

The sound of shoed hooves thundered against cobblestones and shook the ground like an earthquake. Buildings were sacked; women and children in the streets were stabbed by the invader's spears. Screaming, burning, crying, killing…

There wasn't much the city could do to protect itself.

The current representative of the Kievan Rus' territory was crushed under a falling building that crumbled over him. A stone block from one of the walls dropped directly onto his ribcage, coupled with the weight of the other stones, it splintered the bones into his heart. He died instantly.

The Mongols united the government of the land for some time. They established self-sustaining dukedoms with and left to invade other lands in Poland and Hungary.

Muscovy rose with a new representative. Vladimir became the next nation to control the land- and Ivan's predecessor. He drew the central wealth and population to the northeastern part of Kievan Rus'. They established trade with the Baltic Sea, Caspian Sea, White Sea, and Siberia. Muscovy gained full control of the Russian lands in 1480. The time of the Mongol overlordship officially ended.

Over the next 300 years, the rulers of these dukedoms began competing for land and wealth. They waged small wars against each other to expand their borders.

The most successful duke was Ivan III (Ivan the Great). He was born into the rule of Ryazan' and, by the time he was old enough to rule, the princes of Rostov and Yaroslavl' subordinated themselves to him. He later spread his rule over all of Novgorod and Tver'.

He called himself a 'Tsar', meaning 'king' or 'emperor'. His rule spread across the entire northern part of the country. He even tried to expand further, harassing Lithuania for control of more land. After many years of fighting with the other country, he finally prevailed and Muscovy tripled under his rule. Vladimir grew stronger.

But it was under the rule of Ivan IV, twenty-eight years later, that Russia…and Ivan were created. Vladimir faded away and was replaced by the unified kingdom of Russia.

Now, most countries have bloody beginnings…whether it be a revolution against a ruling state, a bloody siege of land, or a struggle to protect against invasion. Russia was _anything_ but an exception from this rule.

He was often haunted by nightmares of his creation, but they'd been held at bay the past week due to other distractions. With all his previous worries eased by the new alliance with the American, Ivan was back to normal…back to the dreaded insanity that nipped at the corners of his conscious.

_It was sometime in the 1560s. Ivan was too young to care the exact date. Currently, he was hiding. His boss had gone into another violent temper fit…_

_Ivan didn't understand the politics of it, but he understood how __**terrified**__ he was of his boss. The man had become the grand prince of Muscovy when his father died. He'd only been three years old at the time… _

_The country had been cared for by his regent until the boy was old enough to make decisions. The woman's name was Helen, and all Ivan could remember of her was that she was Lithuanian. She was poisoned thirty years ago…or so._

_Then __**he**__ had taken the reigns… He was fourteen. He hated humanity. Both his parents had died when he was very young. He was raised in a brutal and degrading environment where he learned to hold human life in contempt. He killed his competition for the throne in cold blood. _

_Ivan knew that his boss had been mistreated by his advisors at a very young age. He knew that his boss hated the Boyars. He knew that __**that**__ was why the man defied them so often…_

_Ivan remembered the first time he'd met Ivan the terrible. _

_He'd been crying…_

_The teen's appearance alone was terrifying. Ivan didn't know if he wanted this kind of boss…he didn't know if he wanted to be named after this kind of man. He was a new country. He had no clue what he was supposed to be doing. _

_He held tightly to the scarf his Katyusha had given him for the cold. The boy had a crazy look in his eyes as he approached. He was dressed in flamboyant, regal clothing and walked with arrogance. He had fiery, unkempt hair that curled around his head in every direction. His white linen stockings and dark green overcoats were stained with bright red splotches. _

_He kneeled down in front of the young Russia. "Please do not cry little one," he said kindly. He wiped a tear from the child's face, smearing blood across his cheek in doing so._

_Ivan sniffed and wiped his cheeks furiously, trying to get the disgusting marks off his face. "What is on your hands?" he cried._

_His boss just laughed lightly. "Oh, this is only the Boyar Danilovich…"_

_Ivan remembered how that had sunk like lead in his stomach. The red all over his boss was a human? His eyes widened._

_His boss saw the look of terror on the child's face. "Oh! No…it is all well… You see, I killed him. I fed him to the dogs…" he said kindly. _

_Ivan just stared at him in terror. He had a horrible feeling that one was not supposed to be __**relieved**__ by such news. Just what kind of man was this Tsar? The thoughts just made him cry harder. _

_Which earned him a sharp smack across the cheek. "I told you not to cry!" the teen snapped at the young child. _

_Ivan's eyes went wide and he forgot __**how**__ to cry completely. He was in shock and pain. His face hurt. _

_Ivan IV bent over to be on eye-level with his nation. He glared sharply at the innocent child. "Crying is weakness," he growled. "Are you weak?"_

_The child just shook his head listlessly. He buried his chin in his scarf as he bowed his head. _

"_Good…" his boss said calmly. "This is a world where you can be wiped off the map if you are not strong enough. And there are many that will try…" he continued. "So. I am going to make you strong. I am going to make you stronger than any of them."_

_Russia just stared at the floor solemnly. "Really?" he asked, keeping his voice careful and calm. _

_A hand patted through his hair, leaving little red blood splotches where it touched. "Of course. Just do as I say."_

_That had been almost two decades ago. Ivan was still just a child, but his boss had grown to be a man- if he could be considered something so human. _

_He'd spent the last thirty years slowly breaking his country down; turning Russia into his pet dog. He quickly broke all the boy's self-respect and conscious guilt; so now, Ivan would follow his every whim. Russia now belonged to Ivan IV. He would kill on the drop of a finger, conquest even his own sisters or friends, steal property, burn villages, and abandon sanity…all for his boss. __**Nothing**__ was out of mind. _

_Ivan IV had only gotten __**more**__ ruthless and more horrible as time had progressed. It all finally broke. _

_Ivan IV passed a new policy called the **O**__**prichnina**__. His agents attacked boyars, merchants, and common people, confiscating land and possessions and executing many. Trade dwindled and peasants who managed the farms began to leave Muscovy, faced with massive taxes and growing violence. A decade of terror ripped through Russia as the boyars fell, and those most capable of running the land fell from their positions. _

_Russia fell ill, but the conquests didn't stop. His boss sent him out in every direction to claim more land. He attacked Livonia and was soon engaged in a war against Poland, Lithuania, Sweden, and Denmark. He might be able to handle one or two of these adversaries alone, but all together…_

_And Ivan IV would not allow him to pull back. It was constantly dark. He finally collapsed, on the brink of death, bleeding out through his massive coats, and only appearing ten or twelve years old physically. _

"_You are weak," he said, stepping gracefully through the snow to kick his nation in the side, adding to the bruises. _

_Russia coughed- blood filling his mouth. He gulped roughly. "There were too many…" he pleaded weakly._

"_Excuses!"_

_Russia hesitated. This had to stop, but he __**knew**__ this was going to hurt… "I-…c-can't…" _

_His boss brought out his walking stick that he often used for show. He jammed it down into Russia's eye socket. There was a horrible crack and blood blurred Ivan's vision. "You will __**not**__ stop."_

"_I know," Russia choked. His entire body felt dead. He didn't think he could move. His wounds would heal eventually...mostly._

"_You are __**mine**__…" Ivan IV said, kneeling down next to his Russia. Ivan had already grown taller than his boss, Ivan IV, but it was still evident who was in control. Russia's boss gently stroked his country's cheek, blood draining down from the open wound in his right eye. _

"_And you…are…" Russia couldn't believe he was going to __**try**__ this… "You're terrible."_

_His boss just laughed and gently moved the bloody white scarf out of the way. "We should get some of these bloody clothes off, da? You have some __**nasty**__ wounds." The man opened Russia's heavy, layered coat and unbuttoned his undershirt. _

"_Please…" Ivan pleaded weakly. _

"_Hush!" his boss snapped, and he snapped his cane open to bring out the knife that was concealed inside it. He brought it out and carefully cut through the flesh of Russia's chest, Ivan screaming the whole way. "You are __**my**__ country! __**Mine!**__" He broke through the ribcage and blindly dug his fist in the gore, moving aside what he wasn't looking for. He ripped out Ivan's heart and stood up calmly, clenching his fist around the dripping organ. _

_The blood in the snow was freezing into little crystals. Russia's vision swirled dangerously as he cried and screamed, making a huge cloud of steam in the dark air, but he could survive without a heart…he was strong. He was stronger than __**any of them**__… _

"_**This**__ is mine…until you show that you deserve it…" Ivan IV said coldly. _

_Russia tried to move, he screamed in pain. He was going to die! He was going to bleed out in the snow! His corpse would freeze to the ground!_

"Ivan!" a warm voice cried frantically.

His body was going to be eaten by the wolves! He would be forgotten and dissolve!

"Goddamnit, Ruski! Wake the fuck up!"

He was shaking... The earth was moving!

"Why're you screaming? You're freaking out the neighbors!" the voice cried.

The world dissolved and it was dark. It was so very dark…

"Wake up!"

Ivan opened his eyes to find a stranger leaned over him, shoving him down into a bed by his shoulder, yelling at him to wake up. Ivan trembled. His eyes were blurry…why were they blurry?

"Oh my _God_…" the stranger said, voice softening at the sight of tears. A hand was on the Russian's forehead. "Are you okay?"

Ivan couldn't move. He was freaking out. If he moved, he would tear open again…

"It's alright to cry..." the voice said softly. "Sometimes you deserve to...what's bothering you?" The stranger leaned over him further. "Hey…Ivan?"

An arm shout out, grabbing the stranger's neck and tugging him down into a bone-cracking embrace. Ivan needed to hold something. He needed some sort of protection…

"Ack! What the fuck?"

"Do not call me that name…" the Russian pleaded. His voice sounded small and scared like a child that feared his closet.

Alfred tried to move, but his spine was snapping under the Russian's frantic embrace. "Would you rather I call you Commie or Ruski?" he demanded angrily. It was the _first_ time he'd called the Russian by his human name since…he couldn't even _remember_ the last time.

"I am not a monster like him…hе похожий ему...hе похожий ему…hе похожий ему…" he said, chanting this over and over, trying to make himself believe it.

"Like…who?"

"He was so…terrible…no…hе похожий ему…"

Alfred sat there and tried to put the pieces together, still trying to sit up. This was feeling really awkward, being pinned into the Russian's chest…on top of a bed. Ivan was complaining about having the name 'Ivan'…and he was 'terrible'. "Ivan the forth?" Alfred questioned.

Ivan screamed again, gripping tighter until Alfred's back cracked painfully. He wouldn't let go, and he was choking the American. Alfred tried to breathe in vain. "Gah! Think about Peter the Great!" he cried, breathless.

If Ivan were in his right mind, he would've been shocked that the American knew so much about his history… But, he wasn't in his right mind. All sanity was lost in dream-induced panic. The Russian didn't let go. Alfred leaned over and bit the side of Ivan's ear- hard.

Ivan whimpered and let go.

Alfred stood and put his hands on his hips. He looked intimidating in his Star Trek tee shirt and striped sleeping boxers. "_Who_ am I?" he demanded.

Ivan's vision cleared and he looked at the American. He thought hard for a moment, but the panic-attack hadn't quite put him in his right mind yet. His thoughts were still jumbled somewhere around the sixteen hundreds. "Ah…India?"

Alfred sighed. It had been awhile since he'd heard _that_ one… "You need some vodka…" he decided. Obviously Ivan was still drugged up from a nightmare. And the best way to fight internal-mental-disorientation? Alcohol!

…

7 bottles of Smirnoff later

…

"Oh, don't get all pissy about it! You were breaking my spine! What was I supposed to do?" Alfred demanded, tucking the Russian's hair behind his ear to check out the nasty bite mark he'd given him. It had bled a little…it was scabbing. "It's little outbursts like _that_ that make people think you're crazy…"

"Do not talk to _me_ about _crazy_!" the Russian snapped. "I vasn't the one sending off a communist witch-hunt…"

Alfred sighed. That was like…fourty years ago.

The Russian had drunk seven full bottles of vodka on his own. And he still hardly seemed tipsy. At least he was back in his proper mindset…for better or worse. "Yeah…well, you _were_ communist, so of course you weren't," he replied calmly.

"You are an idiot."

"You've made that _very_ clear," Alfred replied, trying not to get angry again. He scratched idly at a bite on his face. He still had serious bed-head and his vision was off without his glasses. "McCarthy was…I don't know. He was just the personification of my paranoia I guess."

"_You_ were paranoid?" Ivan demanded, setting down a shot glass that he'd been using out of 'courtesy'.

"Well, duh! You were trying to take over the world with your ideals! …more or less…"

Ivan laughed, he laughed so hard he almost fell over in his chair. "_I_ vas the paranoid one!" he laughed. "Remember the Able Archer 83 practice drill?" he laughed. "I thought you ver using it as a cover to invade!"

Alfred flushed. He hadn't really given that much thought at the time. It had just been a simulation that NATO had done to train for a Soviet attack. Ivan had holed himself up in his house, setting up protective forces to make pre-emptive strikes in Poland and Prussia- just in case NATO aggression. Alfred remembered Regan talking to the public about how the Soviet Union truly _feared_ the US. He changed his strategies from ones of confrontation with the Soviets to one of rapprochement.

Thinking back on it, it was probably the closest they'd come to firing nukes at each other since the Cuban Missile Crisis.

"Or vhat about the Stanislav Petrov Incident?" Ivan pushed.

Alfred got defensive on this one. "Hey, _that_ was _your_ technology flubbing you…"

Ivan frowned, tracing the rim of his glass. "I still thought it vas the end. I thought you ver attacking me…" he said darkly. "But, I refused to believe it."

Alfred frowned. It still bothered him that they had been that way for so long. Hell…they still weren't the best of friends, but at least they weren't wishing the other dead anymore. Why did everything always have to go so wrong with the Russian? _Everything_…

"I vas prepared to go to war vith you."

At that, Alfred had to chuckle quietly. He leaned against the counter. It collected condensation from the air-conditioner above it, so it was cooler than that muggy air. "Well, we kinda _were_ at war…if you didn't notice. It just wasn't a…_hot_ war…we never actually laid a finger on each other…directly. All the fighting was in South America and Asia…and all those revolts you had with those countries in your house…"

Ivan nodded. "I vouldn't actually vant to fight vith you in person…"

Alfred laughed. "Yeah, you know I'd crush you!"

Ivan sent him a quick glare. "You vould be stupid enough to _try_…"

Alfred leaned forward. "I…_would- _not try. I _would_," he corrected.

Ivan just shook his head, smirking. He poured himself more alcohol. "It vould be a stalemate…and you know it. We vould only kill ourselves trying."

"Oh, you Russians and your chess," Alfred prodded, dismissively. "Twenty-four years with the world championship, Ruski…and it was taken by an inbred American _kid_…" he laughed in the back of his mouth. "At the best possible time too!"

Ivan just shrugged. He knew Alfred was trying to pick on him for that match between Spassky and Fischer that the Americans had won. He wouldn't let it get to him though…the kid must've been a protégée. It was the only answer. He took another drink.

"Y'know…you can stop drinking if you feel better…" Alfred reminded him.

"Da, I know."

"Then why're you drinkin all my vodka!" the American said, grabbing for the bottle. "I use that for parties!"

"Vith your two real friends? Or the UN? Either vay, I am sure I can put it to better use. Besides, I haven't had vodka in almost a week…" Ivan reasoned, tipping the bottle over.

"Such restraint…"Alfred muttered, bending over the counter again, defeated. "So…what were you dreamin' about anyway?" he wondered idly. "You were screaming for like half an hour and I couldn't get you to stop…it's like two in the morning. You woke up the neighbors. They started calling me… I'm not supposed to interact with them too much."

The Russian shook his head quietly.

"Don't wanna talk about it?"

"No…" he hesitated, "Alfred."

* * *

><p>Translation<p>

hе похожий ему- Not like him

* * *

><p><em>Yay. First name basis!<em>

_To me, the right to cry is a reward for suffering. To Ivan the Terrible, it was probably weakness. _

_So…if you guys want, I can start putting quick references to the historic events that I mention. I'm just lazy to summarize all this. _

_I wanted to include Ivan III, Ivan the Terrible, Novgorod, Muscovy, Peter the Great, Indians, McCarthy, some Cold War drama, and that chess match. So, I just chopped them all together- briefly. _

_SUPA SUMMRIZIN HISTOREH! (^3^)_

_They're goin to Philly next. To eat some Philedelphia hot dogs. So, if anyone who reads this is __**from**__ Philly or has been there… yeah. I can research on my own, but it's nice to actually hear it from the horse's mouth._

_Review plz?_


	10. Salt keeps ghosts away

_OMG~ I saw a bald eagle today at the lake!_

_Like I said. It takes me like 2-3 hours to type these things up. _

_So._

_I'm probably not gonna b around tomorrow…so you guys- I wrote this yesterday. I just posted it tomorrow…(if that makes sense)_

_All your reviews make me feel like a freaking genius or something… _

_It's really nothing guys. I'm using like 40 outside sources. My brain is just so ADD that somehow they just mesh together. Part of this is directly taken from TCE. _

* * *

><p>Songs- (does <em>anyone<em> actually read with these things?)

'In Pieces' by Linkin Park

'Hallelujah' by Rufus Wainwritght

'Seen Enough' by Cold War Kids

* * *

><p>"So…what were you dreamin' about anyway?" Alfred wondered idly. "You were screaming for like half an hour and I couldn't get you to stop…it's like two in the morning. You woke up the neighbors. They started calling me… I'm not supposed to interact with them too much."<p>

The Russian shook his head quietly.

"Don't wanna talk about it?"

"No…" he hesitated, "Alfred."

The American tensed. He hadn't heard Ivan call him by his first name in…at least thirty years. The last time he had-

"_I swear to God… These are the Minuteman ICBM silos I was talkin about," Alfred said casually, leaning against the metal casing. "There's another fifty-or-so Sprint missiles in four of the other silos. I don't know __**exactly**__ how many there were…but it was around fifty…I swear."_

_He was wearing long blue jeans, a dark brown bomber-jacket, and a toboggan. It was almost winter, but America's climate was fairly pleasant to the Russian. They were walking down the rows of protective anti-missile technology. The scent of cold metal and gravel mixed with the cloud of coffee steam from Alfred's morning cup of jack. "These things should keep us from killing each other…for now," he said, grinning crookedly._

"_And you are using Safeguard System?" Ivan said, staring at the silo the American was leaning on._

_Alfred lifted his eyes groggily. Ivan was wearing a skeptical expression. This was one of the first real motions they were taking to try and trust each other again. He understood that Ivan just wanted to feel safe…hell, that's all __**he**__ wanted at this point. This technology would hopefully give them some piece of mind…if they could agree. _

"_You don't trust me," Alfred said plainly. He sipped at his warm coffee, rubbing his numb fingers across the sides of the cardboard cup to warm them. _

"_I did not say that…" Ivan said defensively. "I just vant to know how your systems vork…"_

_Alfred sighed. "Safeguard's the only antiballistic missile system I've got right now, so yeah that's what it's gonna run with…"_

"_And…it can block up to fifty missiles?" Ivan wondered._

_Alfred scratched his arm under his glove. "Yeah…" he stood straighter. "Isn't this all fucked up, Ivan? It's like…I know that, since you know I can block fifty, you'll just send like a hundred. One way or another, we can always find a way to destroy each other…and this'll be a war that no one can win…won't it?"_

_Ivan sighed and played with the end of his scarf. He hated when the American got serious. He would prefer having another standoff at the Berlin Wall, pointing guns directly at each other's foreheads to this. When someone as carefree as __**Alfred**__ got serious…_

"_Vell…we von't start anything. Dat is vhat dis entire thing is about," he said, motioning to the SALT technology that Alfred had built. "I do not vant to be nuked…and I am sure that you feel the same. I believe that ve have become more sophisticated as our weapons have become more complicated. Our bosses are trying to vork dis out as ve speak…"_

"_Yeah…" Alfred said, exhaling sharply. He gulped down the last of his coffee and crumpled up the cup. "I'm tired of fighting with you. I can't agree with you…but…"_

"_We vant to cooperate, Amerika…" Ivan finished for him._

"_Exactly."_

"_Da-"_

"_Like before," Alfred slipped. His eyes widened and he clenched his fist tighter, noting his slip of tongue. He should just sew his mouth shut when he got home. How could he tell the Russian that he'd missed those days? How could he allude to wanting things to be like before…when they were…they __**were**__? _

_He'd been so caught up in trying to block all that out and focus on hating the commie…_

_They made eye-contact. "Um…yes…" Ivan agreed. "Something like before."_

_Alfred's eyes widened a fraction of a millimeter. Ivan was __**admitting**__ it as well? Or was he just being cordial for the sake of being civil? It was too hard to tell… "Yeah…it would be nice…not to fight with you, I mean…" the American said calmly, testing. _

"_Not to be in constant fear," the other agreed._

_A sharp nod. "To get along better…"_

"_Get all of dis fighting to cease in Africa, South America, and Asia…stop the fighting ve are causing." A smile._

"_Stop your poverty, death toll, and anti-semmitism…" A smile to return. _

"_To be able to touch you vithout vanting to break you apart."_

"_Look in your eyes without wantin to rip them out of their sockets…"_

"_Come back and visit vhen it is warmer here…"_

"_See you without the scope of a gun…"_

"_Kiss you like none of dis ever happened."_

_The air went stiff and tense. The commie had slipped but somehow the mistake made them __**both**__ feel raw and naked. They both braced for the other to say something. _

_Alfred __**knew**__ this was only Ivan's regret talking. They both were chock-full of it- regret that is. But, that didn't change the fact that they still hated the shit out of each other. _

"_Commi-…Ivan…"_

_The Russian went numb. What was he saying? He __**hated**__ America. He hated what the American had done and everything he stood for. He hated how he tried to stifle him and threatened his life almost constantly. Alfred was just an obstacle in his path…but he was one that he couldn't destroy. Taking America down would be suicide…he might succeed, but only in both of their utter destruction._

_And he might hate __**himself**__ for it, but…he just wanted things to go back. Back to how they were with the Tsars before Lenin…when things were palatable- when they were easier… Maybe not easier for __**him**__, but things between their countries had been simple…and that had made their __**relationship**__ simple. _

_He couldn't handle hating Alfred but still wanting to be with him in one way or another. _

"_I've…kinda…um. I missed you…" the American blurted suddenly, wringing out the crumpled cardboard cup. If Ivan didn't return this…oh Jesus…_

"_Ameri…A-Alfred…" the taller man started, unsure and not quite in reality anymore. He reached over and stopped the American's nervous gloved hands. _

_Alfred looked up at the commie, trying to ignore the innocent hand-holding. "You haven't called me that since-" _

_Ivan cut him off, pressing his lips against the American's gently. Alfred's eyes widened, but he didn't flinch away. This was a first… Ivan hadn't kissed him in thirty or forty years._

_Things got complicated after that. _

_The brace of his glasses pressed into the bridge of his nose and chilled his face as the taller man pressed their lips together. It left a cold line across Ivan's cheek. He pulled back. _

"_I…I am sorry," the communist said. Alfred blinked at him with large blue eyes. "I did not mean it." Ivan smiled as pleasantly as he could manage. _

_America smiled back, noting how false and strained Ivan's smile had become. Of course he didn't mean it. He would probably __**never**__ mean it. They wouldn't be quite right. Not for a long time- if at all. And they were both hurting over it. But, things like this should be simple, right? So he shouldn't think. He should just be impulsive like he always was._

_He gripped the taller man's neck and drug him back down again to press their faces together. His fingers buried in soft, cold, windswept hair, and he gently held the crease of the Russian's jaw between his thumb and pointer finger with the other hand. _

_Ivan responded, sliding a gloved hand behind the American's neck as he slid past Alfred's lips and invaded his mouth. A soft, shuttering, brittle whimper escaped __**someone's**__ throat. _

_It was warmer. Alfred quickly unbuttoned the communist's coat and pulled himself closer to Ivan, letting the taller man wrap him up inside his clothing. His arms wrapped around the commie's waist so he's have a better angle to nudge their hips together. _

_Ivan leaned forward, swallowing the American in his arms and pressing him back against the metal wall of the silo. His heart was racing where it was sewn back in. _

_This was just formality. They still had to hate each other. Ivan was under communist dictatorship. Alfred was scared shitless of how Ivan was treating his people. They'd probably __**never**__ go back to the way things were- no matter how much easier it would be. _

_Ivan broke off, smiling broadly- fakely. Alfred quietly wondered how long that smile had been there…_

"_Alfred…I…"_

"_I'll hate you too…" the American cut him off. "But can't we do that later?"_

That was the last time they'd been anywhere _close_ to what they had been in the eighteen hundreds. It was also the last time that Ivan had used the word 'Alfred'. It had been wiped clean off his vocabulary.

So it was a shock to hear it off his tongue again. Alfred just sighed and wiped at his counter with a dish rag. He wasn't sure if he liked hearing his name from the Russian.

Just then, the phone rang brightly. It startled the American and he jumped to answer it. "Ah…hello?" he said carefully. He expected it was just another one of the neighbors calling to make sure he wasn't murdering anybody.

"_America. Where are you?"_ the deep voice said on the other line.

Well, Alfred scratched out the idea of it being the neighbors. They wouldn't call him 'America'. "Oh…hi Obama…um…"

"_Alfred, we're having a meeting about your healthcare. You should be here…"_ his boss hissed on the other line. Alfred figured that he was talking on the phone during the actual meeting, probably trying not to get caught.

"I'm sorry! You'll have to take notes for me. I'm entertaining right now."

"_Entertaining?" _Obama demanded. "_What is that supposed to mean? No one ever comes to visit you… Is the royal family here again or something?"_

Alfred sighed and leaned onto his elbows. "No, it's not Iggy again."

Ivan watched the American closely. He was speaking with his boss? What did the president want? Why did he think that England would be over? And why was Alfred calling the british tea-sucker 'Iggy'? It almost sounded like a title of endearment.

Ivan suddenly wanted to be sick. Alfred and Arthur? Eww….

"_Well, if not England…who would you have over? Japan, China, Iceland, or Canada?"_

Alfred chuckled. Ivan didn't know what to think was going on in the conversation. All sorts of thoughts of the perverted conversation they could be having were invading the Russian's mind. Alfred glanced over at his questioning and angry stare. He grinned.

"Okay. No. The royal family isn't here. Japan didn't bring over videogames, China isn't buying metal from me, Iceland isn't getting Coke, and I'm not smokin' weed with Mattie," Alfred clarified.

The president laughed on the other line. _"Wow, Alfred. Good to hear your not bakin with your brother. That would be against your own laws."_

Alfred cracked up. "Ahaha, Canadian Bakin'. That's a good one, Obama," he laughed, slapping his palm down on the counter.

Ivan caught the just of the conversation and giggled into his palm.

"_But seriously, Alfred. Who's over? I should really know."_ Obama said, suddenly serious.

Alfred looked over at Ivan who quirked a curious eyebrow. Alfred laughed, "Ah, it's just Russia."

"_Oh really?"_ the president said. He seemed pretty eager to hear more. "_Things going well? You two aren't tryin to kill each other again, are you? We're trying to become allies again with the Russians. Don't fuck this up, Alfred," _the president said, both serious and happy.

"Yeah, yeah," Alfred said, waving his hand dismissively even though the president wouldn't see it on the other line. "I know. I won't. Now, get back to your meeting…" He hung up and put the phone back into the wall receiver.

"Vhat vas dat about?" Ivan wondered. His accent had grown thicker as he finished off another bottle of Smirnoff.

"Just Obama wonderin where I am," Alfred responded casually. "Pack your things…let's leave…" he muttered.

…

Ivan gathered his coat, scarf, and the clothing Alfred had let him borrow. He didn't have much else he was traveling with. The American already had clothes and utensils in his other homes so he didn't even pack at all.

Ivan met him down by the stairs at the front door. "Ready?" he asked.

Alfred nodded. "We've gotta drive to the airport," he said calmly. He would get someone at the airport to bring his car back to this house.

They traveled southwest, Alfred driving. It was still pitch black considering it was only about two in the morning. "I'm gonna miss this place…" the American muttered. "Chicago has one of my favorite skylines…"

Ivan just stared blankly out the window.

"It's the birthplace of the modern skyscraper, you know?" Alfred continued. "We didn't have the _tallest_ buildings, but there were the _most_ tall buildings around…if that makes sense."

"It does," Ivan answered shortly. He stared out the window silently. A city-marker sign passed by on the freeway. The Russian stared at it as it passed. "Only _you_ would have a city named 'Justice'…" he monotoned.

Alfred laughed stiffly. "Yeah…there's one of those in several states. There are also a few 'Freedom's and a 'Liberty' or two."

They drove on in silence after that. Alfred tried to make some idle conversation again to get his mind off the highway. He felt a bit safer with the massive country in the passenger's seat, but Ivan didn't know the history of this place, and there wasn't much the Russian could do to protect Alfred from what he feared.

The car was roughly quiet, until Ivan noticed something that the American had passed. "Go back! There vas a hitch-hiker…."

Alfred looked in his rear-view mirror, and sure enough, there was a woman in a white dress standing by the road with her arm up. The blonde was on the verge of a panic attack. He hated driving on this road! "Ah dude! No way man! This is Archer Avenue…I ain't stopping for nothin."

"It is common courtesy!" the Russian replied heated. "Vhat is wrong with dis being Archer Avenue?"

"It's fucking haunted!" Alfred cried, speeding up the car.

"Vell, dat vas not a ghost. It vas a girl."

Alfred started shaking and sped up the car. Ivan sent him a glare. He unbuckled himself, pushed his leg over Al's lap, and pressed on the brakes. The American was crying and babbling, trying to floor the car, but the wheels were locked.

"Get out of the driver's seat, Alfred."

There was a soft tap on the window of the backseat.

"No, no, no!" the American screamed, trying to lock the car.

Ivan pressed two fingers into the soft spots in Alfred's shoulders. The American whimpered and his arms dropped limply off the wheel. "Bastard! You can't drive, you're drunk!"

Ivan ignored him, unbuckled the American, and pulled him out of his seat, kicking and screaming the whole way. Once in the driver's side, Ivan unlocked the back door. The woman in white held up her dress as she sat in the back. "Hello, Alfred…" she said softly.

Alfred was crying, shaking his head slowly, and trying to pretend that she wasn't in the back seat. "Too scary…too scary…too scary…" he chanted over and over.

"You two know each other?" Ivan wondered, turning to the girl in the back seat. She was pretty. She had curly blonde hair that came just below her shoulders. She was wearing a white party dress that seemed at bit dated, but it was nice.

The girl nodded silently. "He never stops the car," she whispered.

"You're not there Mary! You're not there-! Not there-! Not there-! Not there!" Alfred shouted, pounding his fists into his knees. Ivan finally snapped and smacked him across the cheek to temporarily shut him up.

"Vhere are you going Mary?" Ivan asked.

She didn't answer.

"She's not there…this isn't happening…too scary…too scary…not there…" Alfred was whimpering quietly.

"Do _**you**_ know Alfred?" Ivan asked. He needed to know where he was going. He wasn't used to driving in America.

"She's not there!" Alfred cried.

Ivan turned and looked at the girl. She seemed pretty 'there' to him. The girl smiled and brought a hand up to ruffle Alfred's hair. The American screamed like a schoolgirl and cried harder. "She's looking for her grave!" Alfred cried.

"Vhat?"

"Her grave! They moved her grave…" Alfred cried, bringing his knees up to hide behind. He expected Ivan would stop the car at hearing that their passenger was a ghost.

"Vell, vhere is it?" the Russian asked instead. "You vould know…wouldn't you, Alfred?" he said, driving onward. They were nearly to the cemetery.

"That's why I've been trying to get him to stop for ages…" Mary said in the backseat. "He's always just speed up…"

"Too scary! Get her out!" Alfred cried into his knees.

"He is afraid, dorogory…" Ivan said kindly to the ghost in the back seat. He turned to the American. He knew exactly how to end this childlike fussing over the paranormal. He had to piss him off somehow to distract. "Alfred. Stop pissing yourself like a gradeschooler. You are a superpower."

"You shut the fuck up Commie!"

"Vhere is the grave?" he said hastily, quickly before Alfred freaked out again.

The American rolled his eyes, clueless. "Just past the gates at resurrection cemetery; it's down the fifth row, third grave on the right. Now shut up fucking Communist!"

In the back seat, the ghost smiled and faded through the back of the car. Ivan watched her walking down the street through his rear-view mirror. "She seemed nice…" the Russian mused. He smirked at Alfred who seemed to have calmed down a bit.

Alfred just huffed. "I seriously hate you sometimes."

…

Ivan slept through the entire plane ride- probably knocked out after all that alcohol and the stressful car ride.

Alfred just sat and stared at the dark atmosphere below. His glasses were sitting, folded neatly, on his armrest. He was tired, but he didn't feel like sleeping anymore. He didn't feel like thinking either though.

He hated long silences where he had nothing to do but let his mind wonder. He was always as loud as possible to avoid the quiet.

When would things be easier? Even now, he was still at war. Even when most of Europe and Asia were a peace, he still had to keep troops in Iraq. Why the hell were they even there anyway? He could hardly remember.

He vaguely remembered being hit…maybe a punch in the face or something from Iraq. He forgave whatever it was, he just wanted to leave. He wanted his boys back…

Ivan mumbled something in his sleep, his head lolling off to the side, almost onto the American's shoulder. Alfred gently tilted his head back onto the headrest and returned his eyes to the window.

What was there to do in Philly? It had been awhile since he'd been there. He just remembered it was a very clean city and pretty quiet compared to like…New York or San Fran. It had been awhile since he'd visited Illinois. Maybe he should stop by to say 'hi' while they were nearby.

"Alfred?"

The American's gaze tore from the window. Ivan was awake. The dim light of the quiet jet made his sleepy features blur and distort… Oh yeah. Alfred didn't have his glasses on.

Texas had just been decoration at first, but his vision had begun wavering and now they were imperative to America's daily life.

"Sorry…did I wake you?" Alfred said quietly. "We've still got like an hour to go…you can go back to sleep if you want."

"Nyet…I am just awake. Vhat is bothering you?" the Russian questioned.

"Nothin. I'm just thinking about what's there to do in Philly. I think I should call Illinois just to check in with her. I haven't seen her in awhile."

"You could have her meet vith us…" the Russian offered. He wasn't really sure why the American was going through all this to entertain him, but it was all very amusing to see Alfred's country again. Whether he would admit it or not, Ivan still loved visiting America. It was warm here and the people were always so enthusiastic. If the American wanted to visit his daughter, than Ivan would put up with them.

Alfred tipped his head against the headrest and gave the Russian a warm smile. "Yeah…I thought about that. But, she's probably busy. I should really be busy myself…"

"Slacking off vith me?" Ivan laughed.

"Eh…we'll both get in trouble eventually. Our bosses can only handle everything for **so** long…"

Ivan chuckled and rolled his head over on the headrest to face Alfred. Their shoulders were about as close together as they could be without touching. There was an easy, loose feeling in the air. Alfred wondered when he'd become so comfortable with the Russian.

Maybe they'd _always_ been comfortable together. Maybe the Cold War just happened because, for once in their lives, they weren't the same.

There was a reason why Russia and America had never fought before the Cold War. The two nations had never given each other any trouble. There had never been a reason to. They were always sided against the same enemies. And the reason why they never fought was as simple as that.

For Alfred and Ivan, it was just a little different. There was a silent understanding. 'You're not Europe. You're an outsider. You're like me. Let's be alone together.' And that little bit of common-ground built an instant camaraderie.

Two people who feel alone will gravitate to each other naturally. It is human nature to build groups. It makes one feel safer having someone they believe will protect them. Alfred and Ivan were only human.

And, groups of humans will behave the same cumulatively, as a single individual will act alone- because all people are, more or less, the same. This was why each nation took on a personality of its own. They befriended countries who seemed strong enough to help them, or shared the same ideals.

The entire time during the Cold War, Ivan kept one of the photographs he'd taken with the American in 1867. He tried to tear it up every day. He'd sit there with trembling fingers poised on either side, trying to rip the flimsy picture, but he could never do it. He would just tuck it back underneath the carpet in his bedroom- somewhere Stalin couldn't find it.

He'd hoped that, maybe, if he held onto that one little inkling of want for freedom, than eventually it would happen. But, Stalin broke him again- just like Ivan IV. He took Ivan's heart and locked it in a box that he kept in a guarded vault. And…Ivan forgot how to wish. After the children grew old and a new generation was born…he forgot what he was even wishing _for_.

Alfred had grown more and more paranoid every day during the rise of communism. He had already been scared shitless of being a superpower before he was ready, but then Russia had to go and threaten the world order with his domination plans. Alfred, being the strongest nation on earth at the time, had no choice but be the one to handle it.

But he didn't _**want**_ to. This was _Ivan_. The same man that he'd shared his first kiss with. The same one that had tried to stitch up Alfred's wound when his nation had split in half and his ribs had cracked and opened.

But, that didn't change the situation. It didn't change what Ivan had become, and it didn't change Alfred's opinion of him.

So yes. They would fight. But, never in their own land. They would point guns, scream curses, stare down, flaunt wealth, make spiteful alliances, sleep around to make the other jealous, spy on each other, even try and infest the enemy's psych with psychological warfare. But, Alfred would never attack Russia, and Ivan would never attack America.

It was too risky. They would threaten _everything_.

And they'd worked it out. At first, it might have been through gritted teeth and with fingers crossed, but as time passed, so did the past. It became irreverent.

And that's where they were now.

At least, that's what Alfred figured.

"You are being quiet," Ivan observed.

"Hm…?" the American muttered contentedly. He had his head back up against the back of the seat and his eyes were closed calmly.

"You are not a morning person."

"At least I'm not a morning bear like you," Alfred teased languidly, his eyes were drooping. He shouldn't have started thinking again.

"Amerika?" Ivan said, gently prodding Alfred's cheek. The American's head lolled over onto Ivan's shoulder. Alfred mumbled something in his sleep and scooted over unconsciously to snuggle more comfortably. Ivan's heartbeat picked up a little at the unfamiliar contact, but he allowed the American to stay there until they landed.

…

Alfred's jet pulled down the runway at about six A.M. that morning, arriving in Philadelphia. The American was still sleeping against Ivan's shoulder when they landed. He was drooling pretty excessively and the Russian figured he was doing it on purpose and refused to get mad.

Lately, Alfred only _laughed_ when Ivan was angry. And that only pissed the Russian off even more. It wasn't worth it.

He shook the American awake. Blue eyes opened blearily, not really focusing. Alfred grumbled and reached for his glasses. "We're here?" he wondered.

"Da."

"Mmm…okay."

"I vill go home after this…" Ivan said calmly. He figured now would be a good time to break it to the American.

"What? Why?" Alfred demanded, suddenly feeling wide-awake.

"Because I am being a burden…" he said calmly. After the incident last night he couldn't stay here anymore. He couldn't have the American seeing him so vulnerable. It was demeaning.

"Damnit Russia! You're not being a burden! We're tryin to be friends again, remember? You're being my company so I'll have an excuse to get around my own country again."

Ivan frowned. "So I'm just a tool for you to procrastinate your responsibilities as a country?"

"Well…kinda…" Alfred muttered. That was about as close as he'd come to admitting that he _wanted_ the Russian around.


	11. Pervs in Philly

_Ahaha, I love how Ivan just says whatever he wants around Alfred. He doesn't wear that mask like he did in the show. I figure that they've been through so much that they can be themselves around each other by now._

* * *

><p>Songs-<p>

'Off Track' by The Features

'Your Song' by Elton John- covered by Ellie Goulding

'It's about time' by Barcelona

* * *

><p>After a taxi ride from the airport, the pair found themselves standing at the intersection between JFK Boulevard and Fifteenth Street. Ivan was quite shocked at how quiet the city was for being such a large metropolitan place.<p>

There were tall, pretty Victorian-style buildings and clean, modern sky-scrapers with tinted blue windows and white framing. Traffic was light and there were a few pedestrians and cyclers.

Ivan admired the architecture as they walked. Many of the scrapers flew American flags off their roof. They passed corner cafes and pizza grills.

Alfred was wearing a thin tee shirt and some khaki shorts which he had his hands stuffed in the pockets of, he skipped happily on the balls of his feet while he walked. "We gotta pass through Love Park, dude…" the American said casually.

Ivan sent him a confused stare. "Vhat are you talking about now?" he demanded, blood rushing to his face.

Alfred pointed a thumb to the square of grass and trees nestled in the urban area. There was a large fountain in the middle with a huge statue that read the word 'LOVE'. "Love Park," he repeated. "It's nice this time of year since they've got the fountain going. We should cut through it just cause it's easier than fighting to cross traffic."

"Vhere exactly is our destination anyvay?" Ivan asked. He was growing tired of carrying the bag with his luggage in it.

"Dude, we've gotta go to Bubby's and Bugsy's! Their hot dogs are epic!"

"Oh…food again…"

Alfred grabbed the Russian's hand to get him to move faster. "For dinner, we've _got_ to go to Tony Luke's and have a roast pork sandwich or somethin. They're really popular around here, and it's near my condo anyway. We should find a good hoagie place too since we're in Philly…and we've _got_ to have some Philly cheese steak!"

Ivan was trying to ignore everything the American was doing. He was being unusually happy and very abrasive. It was difficult not to think about it when there were college students and business people staring at them like they were a couple or something. Ivan tried to shake his hand free, but Alfred hardly even noticed his motion.

Ivan just stopped walking completely. He rooted his feet into the ground defiantly.

Alfred finally noticed and turned around. "What?" he demanded.

Ivan looked down at their hands then over at the fountain then back at their hands.

"What?" the American repeated.

"You are having me walk vith you in Love Park while holding my hand. Imagine how dis must look," Ivan said rationally.

Alfred's face flushed and he pulled his hand away. He turned on his heel. "R-right then…um…hot dogs! That's what I was doing!"

He ran down the street and into the small shop sandwiched between a laundry-matt and a government building. He held up two fingers to the kid at the register and was handed two dogs.

Ivan just found himself a seat on a bench under a tree. He usually liked the warmth, but obviously Alfred was going through a heat wave. It couldn't be below ninety degrees and it wasn't even noon yet.

Alfred trotted back with his hands full of food again, a goofy grin plastered on his face. "I got hot dogs~!"

"I can see that," Ivan managed as the questionable meat product was placed in his lap. "Did you get anything cold by chance? It is much too warm in your land…"

"Ah, here!" Alfred said, handing the Russian the cup of Coke he'd already drank half of. Ivan slipped the straw in his mouth and drank down the rest. He really didn't care much if Alfred's mouth had already been on it. Because well, damnit it was hot outside!

The American just chuckled and brought his feet up onto the bench to sit Indian-style. He took a monstrous bite out of his hot dog and started talking. "meyah ey mwemeber dat!"

Ivan rolled his eyes. "Speak after you swallow," he chided, stealing a pickle off the American's tray.

Alfred laughed, gulping down his food. "I remember when you first tried coke!"

Ivan sighed. "Da. Vhen vas dat? Seventy-nine? Eighty?"

Alfred rolled his eyes and took the cup back, popping off the lid and draining whatever might be left into his mouth. He chomped on a piece of ice. "Like I remember the _date_," he cracked. "But you thought I was tryin to poison you or something."

"Vell, da. It vas at the Olympics and I vas sure you would slip me something to help yourself compete vith me. If you have forgotten, we vere still at war…sort of."

"Yeah, yeah…I know how competitive we were throughout that whole thing. It was just so funny to watch your expressions."

Ivan's face heated slightly more than necessary. "Vell, it is good. Probably the best you have ever made, looking at it from an international trading standpoint."

Alfred fished in the cup for a piece of ice and slipped it into the Russian's shirt. "Don't be so technical," he chided.

Ivan was still wearing a high collar and long sleeves. The ice hardly affected him. It actually felt quite nice in the heat. He took the cup and fished out a piece of ice to suck on. He casually held another to the back of Alfred's neck. The American jumped, but tried to brush it off by changing seating positions.

"So…you're leaving tonight then?" the American asked, ignoring the ice slowly melting down his neck.

"If you vant me to," Ivan replied, speaking like a politician.

Alfred glared at him. Why would that Russian bastard put the decision on him? Neither of them wanted to give anything away. "It would help me put off going to hear about healthcare…" he muttered, hoping that it came off blasé enough.

Ivan stared at him, taking the ice off Alfred's neck and popping it in his mouth. The American gave him a quick look of disgust. Ivan smirked, "Are you sure you don't vant me to stay, just to visit?"

Alfred sent him another glare. "When's the last time you came to North America just to _visit_?"

Ivan thought for a moment.

The last time he had visited North America had been a few months ago for a hockey match with Matvey. He hadn't been there to see Alfred, but he'd seen him anyway…

_The Russian walked in to a strange scene. Matthew was seated calmly on the couch, watching Canadian Pickers on television. It was just a day after they'd finished their game and Matthew had won. _

_Alfred -for once in his life- was ignoring the screen in favor of dancing…in his boxers…with no other clothing on…very close to his brother's lap. _

_Ivan didn't quite understand why that made him so angry. He turned and looked down at the Canadian as Alfred swirled his hips around with his arms behind his head. "Enjoying the show?" he ground out. _

_Matthew, not exactly reading the mood –the brothers had to have __**something**__ in common- looked up at the Russian. "Do you know why he's dancing in his underwear?" he said in a quiet, calm voice._

_Ivan glanced at the American. Alfred's eyes were closed and he was swaying to some unheard music. All his scars were exposed; in fact, he was flaunting them. Ivan shrugged. "I thought he vas trying to seduce you…"_

_The Canadian laughed. "Yeah, right. I found this in the laundry…" Matthew said, leaning over the side of the couch and pulling up a blood-soaked Navy Seals uniform to show the Russian. Alfred threw his head back, grinning and moving his arms. _

_Ivan stared at the soiled uniform suspiciously. "Amerika, vhat have you been doing?"_

_Alfred smiled, eyes still closed. "All the usual…" _

_Matthew took a sip from a glass of wine he had sitting on a table next to the couch. "He came over to celebrate killing Bin Laden."_

_"Ding dong Bin Laden's dead~!" Alfred sang happily. _

_"Oh…" Ivan said. _

…

"A few months ago actually…" Ivan said to answer Alfred's previous question.

Alfred thought back. "Oh…yeah, I remember that now," he laughed. "Good times…"

"So your war vith Iraq is almost over, da?" Ivan said innocently.

Alfred's smile faded. "I…I don't know, really." He ate a pickle. "But, I'm fucking tired of hearing about it…They call me over sometimes to dog fight in an F-39."

Ivan went silent. He watched the pedestrians passing by on their daily routines. Their lives seemed so small, but without them, the countries would have no human representatives and none of them would exist. Did they really understand how small and unimportant all their tiny troubles were in the big picture?

"I think I vill stay…but only tonight. I vill leave in the morning…" he said after some hesitation. They both should really get back to their own responsibilities.

Alfred's grin faded and he leaned into the back of the bench, not realizing how much his posture had fallen. He didn't want Ivan to leave yet. He was supposed to be making friends with him again. Somehow it felt like that had already been done because…now he was actually enjoying himself.

It almost felt like 1890 again and he and Ivan were the best of friends. Those were the days.

He kinda wanted the Russian to stay to watch horror movies with him and Japan. But, he'd made it quite clear that he didn't want Ivan seen in America by other countries. So it seemed like he _would_ need to leave tonight anyway.

Ivan noticed the darkening mood of the American. Was Alfred really _that_ inclined to procrastinate? They ate in silence. Alfred watched the people in the park.

Wait…

"Oh my GOD! SWEET!"

Ivan looked over at the American curiously. Alfred was staring at two people lying flat across the top of the Love statue. "Vhat are they doing?" Ivan wondered aloud.

"They're planking!" Alfred cried excitedly. "It's been like two years since I've seen people doing this!"

Ivan sighed. He remembered the strange fad that the American tourists had taken to. They'd done the same thing in his country. Whole groups of them had flooded St. Basil's Cathedral and laid on their stomachs in the most odd and uncomfortable places they could find.

"You wanna go?" Alfred said excitedly, grabbing the Russian's hand again.

"Nyet," the Russian refused, giving Alfred a sweet smile.

"Aww…come on! It's fun! One time, I climbed the pole of a McDonald's sign and I planked on top of the arches…it was epic. People started taking pictures from their cars!"

"Somehow this does not surprise me," Ivan muttered, his smile wavering. "Sit down."

Alfred frowned and settled back into the seat. "It's good exercise you know…" he said defeated. "Builds your core if you do it properly…"

"Da, and apparently it gets you attention as well. I can see why you love it," Ivan said, smiling brightly.

The American laughed and punched Ivan in the arm. "You're funny you know that?"

"I vas not jok-"

"Gah! We need to find something cool to do," Alfred cut him off. "This is Philly! I mean, this is like the _birthplace_ of 'Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness'!"

Ivan rolled his eyes. "Vhat do you suggest then?"

Alfred pushed his glasses up on his nose and thought. "Well, we could go to the National Constitution Center, or Independence Hall, the Liberty Bell is here…that's kinda interesting. There's some cool history stuff in there…" he glanced over at the Russian. "Ah…but that might not really interest you, I guess."

Ivan just blinked.

"Okay, then we should go to the Philadelphia Museum of Art!" Alfred suggested. He's seen that big bell a billion times before. There was some cool artwork he was sure he hadn't seen though, and that seemed like something Ivan would like- or at least like something he wouldn't complain about.

"How far is that?"

Alfred thought for a few minutes. "I'll call a cab…"

…

They dropped off Ivan's things at Alfred's condo overlooking Starr Garden Park. When they'd arrived at the museum, Alfred stepped out of the cab first and threw his arms up. "Isn't it pretty?"

Ivan stared at the sheer _size_ of the museum. It was at least five stories tall and had huge white columns supporting the front. There were carved statues all over the manicured lawn that stretched out on both sides of the wide staircase to the entrance. Ivan decided that it _was_ pretty. "Da," he replied.

Alfred grinned and started climbing the stairs. "We could spend all day in here- trust me. But, we'll look at whatever ya want, okay?"

Ivan walked after him, watching him closely. This was suspicious behavior. Alfred was about as cultural as…he didn't even think anyone would level out with him. America was the melting pot of nationalities, but somehow, most of the time, he showed about as much culture as grass.

So then…why were they here?

Did he think that this would interest Ivan?

Well…it sort of did. He was more into literature and music, but artwork was nice too. It was definitely better than constantly eating…

But why was the American being like this? Ivan was starting to get suspicious of this whole situation. He shrugged it off as nothing.

So, Alfred lead Ivan through the American art on the first floor and they both roamed through the rest of the museum at will. There were paintings, tapestries, pottery, sculptures, fountains, carvings, china, and all sorts of other artifacts.

Alfred would comment on each exhibit.

"The Medieval Cloister! This is so cool!" America cried, running through the old Romanesque pillars and into the exhibit.

"Don't touch anything," Ivan reminded him.

Alfred sent him a glare and they moved on. "Whoa! Look at this armor!" the American was saying next. "I wish I was around when they used this stuff…it's so cool!"

"It vas not exactly _comfortable_…" Ivan muttered.

Alfred turned to him, grinning. He was trying to imagine the Russian wearing armor and chain mail. "I bet you looked awesome…like a medieval hero or something."

Ivan rolled his eyes and walked away to look at the 'European Decorative Arts' gallery. He looked through all the pompously adorned plates and tea cups.

He'd always had mixed emotions towards the European culture. One of his favorite rulers, Catherine the Great, had worked hard to try and Europeanize him, constantly chiding him to use a napkin and keep his elbows off the table and such.

"Russia? Mon ami, vhat are you doing in dis place?" came a familiarly French voice from behind Ivan. He cringed. What was _he_ doing here?

"Francis?" Ivan said carefully, turning around to see France wearing a maroon vest over a white button shirt. His pants were long and black, but also slick.

"Hey, Ruski! I found this really cool snuff bottle from China! It's upstairs, you gotta see-!" Alfred paused, dead in his tracks. "France?"

"Bonjour," the Frenchman greeted, nodding his head to Alfred.

"Why the hell are you here?" the American demanded.

"I am setting back ze clock dat I gave you in 1795…" Francis said, motioning to the glass case he had opened and the pocket watch and stand inside it.

"And you chose _today_ to do this?" Alfred snapped.

"I didn't know there vas a reason vhy I should not?" France said innocently. "But I see now that you are entertaining…" he grinned crookedly. "Am I smelling a reawakened romance~?"

"Ack! Hell no!" Alfred denied immediately. He turned to Ivan to see what his response was.

Ivan just stared at them both. How could Francis even _suggest_ such a thing? And why was he hesitating? Their stares had become piercing. Now, even if he denied it, neither of them would believe him…he'd waited too long. He was silently cursing the world in his head. He was pretty sure his expression had become menacing.

"Schlop~"

"Ah, SICK!"

"Mon Dieu!"

Ivan glanced down. His heart had slipped down out of his shirt. He gave the others a reassuring smile. "It's alright…I did not feel a thing!"

"Well, don't just leave it there!" Alfred cried, leaning forward and scooping up the organ. "Goddamnit…that's gonna stain! Francis, get the janitor!"

He stood up to see Ivan's face completely red and the Russian staring at him intensely. "What?" he demanded.

Ivan opened his mouth to say something, but he bit it back.

Alfred just shook his head and looked down at the beating organ in his hand. "Ah…there's a piece of dirt on it…we should go clean it off…" he suggested, walking down the hall with Ivan following him obediently. Alfred threw the bathroom door open heroically.

"Anybody who's in here get the _fuck_ out!" he shouted. There was no response anyway. "Cool…" he muttered and he went to the sink, turning on the water. He dipped the organ under it, and the sink went red.

Ivan choked and fell against a stall. "Take it out!"

Alfred turned around. "What?"

"Too cold!"

"Ah!" Alfred jumped, and turned the water to warm. He carefully rubbed the side of the organ clean.

Behind him, Ivan was trying to concentrate on _anything_ but the feeling of the American caressing his heart like that. Even when it wasn't in his body, Ivan could still feel it beating. He tried to slow it down before Alfred realized how quickly his heart was racing. No one had ever handled the sensitive organ that gently…

"How do you put it back in?" Alfred asked, turning around with the muscle in hand.

Ivan's head was spinning; not from blood-loss or anything. He never lost much when his heart fell out…somehow. "I don't want it back…" the Russian decided suddenly.

"What are you talking about? That's crazy," Alfred said, stepping forward and unbuttoning the top of Ivan's shirt.

The Russian grabbed his wrist so that Alfred had to grip tighter to the organ to keep from dropping it. "I _don't_ vant it back right now! It has been taken too many times." Alfred stared at him. His eyes were _intense_. Ivan gently closed Alfred's hand around the muscle. "You…just keep it safe for me…"

Alfred stared down at his hand. He wasn't covered in any blood or anything, and even if he was, it wouldn't really gross him out that bad. He'd seen Ivan's blood before. Hell, he'd been covered in it before.

The organ was a wiring mesh of pink flesh and blue and red veins. The heart was a bit bigger than a soft ball, Alfred decided. It was beating pretty fast in his hand. "You're…sure you want me to keep this?" he clarified anxiously.

"You are strong enough to protect it…da?" Ivan had his heart kept away from him by too many of his bosses. They'd taken control of him too easily once it was in their possession. There was nothing to say that it would happen again, but Ivan knew that peace was a fleeting thing. Eventually he would get another horrible boss. And, if he wasn't going to be the one to actually keep it, then he wanted his heart to be somewhere safe.

Ivan trusted America again. He knew that Alfred had matured quite a bit. He was one of the most reasonable people Ivan knew...just in a different way. Alfred wasn't power-hungry or overly-ambitious. But, most of all, Alfred was powerful right now. His economy might be in the gutter, but it would pass. And, Ivan had faith that he could come back for what was his anytime.

Alfred looked at the muscle in his hand. Ivan wanted him to protect it? Was he strong enough? "Well, yeah…but…"

"Then I'll trust you…" Ivan said quietly. He tilted the American's jaw up so that he could pierce his gaze. "I _can_ trust you…right?" he breathed. They were so…_close_. Ivan could almost feel the American's breath against his lip.

Alfred was trying to adjust his eyes to keep contact with Ivan's, but they were too close, so he gave up and closed them.

Ivan's heart beat a little faster. Why was Alfred closing his eyes? Did he think that Ivan was going to kiss him? Should he?

"I ave ze janitor cleaning up ze blood splo-!"

Alfred dropped down onto his heels. He hadn't realized he was leaning forward.

"Ohonhon…"

"Quiet, Frenchie!" Ivan snapped, giving an ominous grin.

Francis raised his hands in immediate surrender. "I vont make it anything you zay it iz not," he swore. "I just came to tell you dat I have ze janitor cleaning ze mess."

Alfred nodded, discretely wrapping the heart in a paper towel. He didn't have anything to carry it in, so he just held onto it.

France waved his hand elegantly. "I vanted to know if you two vould like to join me. I ave reservations at Le Bec Fin. It ez just ze few blocks ehway."

Alfred considered the prospect of French food…decorative plates with tiny portions. It would cost a ton, and knowing Francis, he'd probably end up paying for his own meal anyway. He would _have_ to refuse this. "Ah…I don't know, I mean-" A hand cut him off.

"We vould love to," Ivan consented.

Alfred sent him a glare. He guessed Tony Luke's was out of the picture then. If he was being forced to go…he was _not_ paying for his food. And he would eat his _heart out_. That would teach them...

"Ah joie~! Ve can take my car zen!" the Frenchman said happily as he trotted through the last exhibits to the massive parking lot outside. "I zought I vas going to be dining alone tonight!"

"Really?" Alfred said skeptically. "You'd probably sweet-talk one of _my_ girls to have dinner with you then coerce them into having sex with you," he finished angrily, folding his arms over his chest.

"Ah, American girls are very easy~!" France cooed lightly teasing.

Alfred's fists balled. Ivan winced when one of them clenched around his heart a bit too tightly. "You take that back! No American girl would go out with some guy she didn't know unless it was just for the food!"

"He is only teasing, Alfred. He is joking," Ivan said, putting a hand on the American's shoulder. "But really? The food again?"

Alfred's rage died down and he fell back like an angry dog, hesitant and still growling.

"I apologize, mon ami~!" Francis said, ruffling Alfred hair. "I only pursue American women if they are hard to get as most of zem are. Those are ze most fun, yes?" he said, tapping the American's nose.

Alfred ignored the opportunity to make a rude comment to that.

"Can I use your phone, Alfred?" Ivan said calmly as they walked through the parking lot. "I vill call my plane to come get me…"

Alfred sent him a glare. "No."

Ivan closed his eyes patiently. "Vhy? I vould think you vould rather not have me around now that you have Francis to be your company."

"Well, now that France is here, there's no reason for you to leave!" Alfred countered. "You were just going home tonight because of that movie thing with Japan. But now, everyone will know you were here anyway since France can't keep a secret worth shit…"

"Are you _asking_ me to stay?" Ivan said calmly. He would stay if Alfred just _asked_ for it.

The American quirked a skeptic eyebrow. "Really? I'm not asking. You think I'd _let_ you leave before the awesome horror movie-fest I've got planned with Kiku? No way in hell, Ruski! It's for your own good!"

"After seeing you dis morning vith Mary, why vould I vant to watch you have a panic attack again?"

"Cause it amuses you?" Alfred said hopefully.

Ivan snorted, "Hardly."

"Then stay because you _want_ to."

"Ask me to and I vill," Ivan countered

"I shouldn't have to ask. I _know_ you don't wanna leave. America's too awesome to wanna leave!"

"I have no reason to stay. I vill not believe that I am not a burden if you do not _ask_ me to stay."

Alfred rolled his eyes and jogged to catch up to Francis. They were going to play _this_ game next, huh?

* * *

><p><em>French translations- <em>

_Joie- Delightful_

_Mon dieu- my God._

* * *

><p><em>Yep. So close. I'm just teasin you guyz. <em>

_Yeah…France has to have an epic accent too. It's fun to write his dialect. But, it's easiest to just write Alfred. _

_Let's see who cracks first. XD_


	12. Ticklish

_Can anyone spell __**filar chapder?**_

_You people who review on every chapter are fucking awesome. You know who you are! _

_Seriously…thank you. _

_It's a good thing I'm not a perfectionist or I would just start over on each chapter and these things would take weeks to come out. Instead, I sort of rush and come up with half-assed fluff and badly researched information and history. XD That's what you get for daily updates~_

_I should really update my South Park story…it's been neglected for a week and a half…_

* * *

><p>Songs- really don't fit…at all.<p>

'Bigger than us' by White Lies

'Surrender' by Matchbook Romance

'Rewind' by Poets of the Fall

Argh, none of these songs ever fit the tone and meaning of the story so far…but they fit for this pairing so well, so I gotta use them.

* * *

><p>Alfred found a shopping bag in France's car. He carefully placed the heart inside and tucked the wrapped organ in a baggy pocket of his cargo shorts. He'd have to watch and make sure he didn't sit on it…<p>

Ivan sat quietly. Alfred seemed a bit pissed off still from France's teasing. It was so very tempting to egg him on, but the last thing Ivan wanted was Alfred exploding and purposely squashing his heart. He figured that the American was more mature than that, but he still didn't want to test it.

Francis stopped the car in front of a hotel. "Alright, out of ze car boys!"

"What?" Alfred demanded. "Look you French weasel, you promised me dinner, and I intend to eat my fill!"

Francis just rolled his eyes and unbuckled. "Do you zink I vould let you just dine in a restaurant like _Le Bec Fin_, dressed like _zat_?"

"What are you suggesting then?" the American said impatiently. He scratched a bug bite under his chin furiously.

"I have zum button shirts that I vas to drop off in your home anyvay. A shipment of dezigner clothing…in all sizes," he finished off, glancing up at the tall Russian. "Follow me…"

The Frenchman led the other two up a few stories to his hotel room. Ivan hesitated at the door. He got the feeling he was about to be molested in some way. He shrugged it off, he _always_ had that feeling around Francis, but it was hardly ever malicious…

The other two were already inside rifling through large cardboard boxes. "Dude, why haven't you dropped them off yet?" Alfred said curiously.

"Zey vill be used in a show tomorrow. So, you can _**not**_ get zem stained, Alfred…I swear to God, I _vill_ kill you…"

Alfred just laughed and held up a black button-up shirt with thin pinstripes. "What about this? I can't stain black, right?"

"Iz et your size?"

"Ah…yep!" Alfred grabbed the pair of slacks he'd already chosen and went into the bathroom to change. Normally, he wouldn't have cared about changing in front of everyone, but with France in the room it just didn't feel safe.

Alfred closed the door behind himself. It clicked loudly as most hotel room doors often do. Alfred patted his pocket and took the heart out of its plastic bag. There _had_ to be something better to hold it in…

Why had Ivan given him this anyway? Did he really trust him that much?

Alfred sat over the toilet seat and stared at the organ. It was pulsing calmly, but no blood came out. It had somehow stayed hydrated.

The American leaned forward and poked it. Its beating sped up a little when he did that. Okay…this could be fun…

Meanwhile, Ivan was sorting through the clothes to find one that might fit him. He could feel Alfred messing with his heart again. He tried to ignore it.

"There must be one. These are clothes for America, da?" he said in frustration. America ordered triple-XL clothing for his obese citizens, why would there not be a longer shirt for a tall person?

"Ah~! I found one~!" Francis called from the back corner.

Ivan turned, France was holding up a light blue collared shirt and some khaki pants. They looked massive in his hands. He passed them off to Russia.

Ivan reached out for it, but there was a sudden lightness in his chest and a…tickling. He laughed and clutched his chest. "A-Ahalfred~" he giggled, curling in on himself.

France quirked an eyebrow. The Russian suddenly burst out in a giggling fit, crying out the American's name? He _knew_ there was something fishy going on between those two. Let's see if some spiked wine could bring something interesting…

"Amerika, morgaly vikalyu, padla!" Ivan shouted, storming over and banging on the bathroom door, laughing hysterically.

France cringed into the corner. Maybe they _weren't_ ready to start over…

Alfred jumped when the door started shaking on its hinges. "Okay, okay! I get it!" he shouted back. He ripped the tissue box out of the side of the sink and tore it open, dumping the tissues across the counter and tearing it so he could carefully put the heart in the box. It would be a bit safer in there for now. He stuffed some tissues in the sides to keep it still, and he placed the box back in the trash bag from the car.

Ivan slouched against the door, catching his breath from laughing. "Nikogda…nota do tot snova…" he breathed.

The door opened suddenly and Ivan fell forward.

"Kay! Is this better? Can we go eat now?" Alfred yelled in his most obnoxious voice possible. He stepped out of the bathroom. He was messing with the cuff links of his shirt, so he hardly even realized that he'd knocked Ivan over.

The Russian pushed himself up, grunting. "Alfred…" he growled, still supporting himself on his hands and knees.

The American turned after setting down the trash bag. "Oh...how'd you get down there?" he said, flashing Ivan a grin.

Goddamnit…why couldn't Ivan stay angry at him anymore? He reached up and took the hand that Alfred offered and stood.

Ivan changed next and the three went for the door.

Alfred jumped when a hand gripped his ass from behind and squeezed. He turned to France, laughing. He smacked his hand away. "God, you're such a perv~!"

The Frenchman just earned a sharp slap when he tried the same thing on the Russian. "Golubaya bl'yad…" Ivan muttered coldly. Alfred laughed, understanding the foul insults from a long time ago.

…

They were taken to their seats by a middle-aged waiter with a serious expression and a pair of oval glasses. He handed out menus to all three men and walked away stiffly. Alfred dropped his bag with the heart in it down between his feet protectively. He refused to leave it in the car where it would overheat.

The restaurant was too fancy for the American's tastes, but he knew that a lot of people liked this sort of stuff, so he'd just sit and let France have his fun.

There were chandlers hanging from the ceiling, and table cloths, padded chairs, calm lighting, and everything.

Alfred pushed his glasses higher on his nose and looked down at the curly letters of the menu. He sighed, "I can't even _read_ this…" he muttered quietly.

"It is almost completely in English…da?" Ivan said back quietly. "You should have no trouble understanding…"

The American rolled his eyes and looked back at his menu. "The hell?" he hissed. "Miso Cured Cod Loin…" he read aloud. "Does that actually _sound_ appetizing to _anyone_?"

"Just choose something," Ivan murmured back calmly.

Francis watched their exchanges with interest. He remembered back in the sixties when Ivan would come to him for consolation over Alfred. It was a rough time for both of them. Alfred had grown an obsession with England and Arthur's new culture revolution. Even the _Frenchman_ had never seen two countries so eager to bone each other.

And it drove Ivan crazy.

France knew _all_ about Russia and America's relationship during the nineteenth century, and he hated seeing the previous love fail so epically. He knew that the two were still compatible; they were just driving themselves down into ruts and repeating the same arguments over and over.

But he could tell neither of them wanted to give up on what they had. They were just waiting for the other to give in first and call a truce. But that wouldn't happen. They were too fucking stubborn.

So they grew apart. More like…drove each other away- made the other hate them. And Alfred moved on. He did so rather gracefully too.

He showed up drunk on Ivan's doorstep once or twice to tell him just _how_ well he was moving on and how much he supported Ivan's political relations with China. Though…he didn't really _tell_ him…more like spit it in his face and stomp away childishly.

England had come to pick him up after one of these episodes, and their international relations had…strengthened. But, Alfred had always been family-oriented and he hated the fact that he'd argued so much with his former care-giver, so it was an accomplishment for him.

When Ivan heard about it through the grapevine, he had remained calmly stone-faced. "Vell…it vas only a matter of time, I suppose," he said. "Let them work together, they vill not get in my vay."

But they did. Not only Arthur either, most of Europe and the Atlantic countries joined NATO to regulate the nuclear arsenals. Russia even tried to join once, but Alfred had gotten suspicious of him practically drove him out. Ivan gave up.

Alfred and Arthur only grew closer with their politics weaving together disgustingly. Francis came over to comfort Ivan about it. He assured him that it would pass eventually.

They were still the two countries with the 'special relationship' technically. But, that meant nothing to Alfred anymore. He wasn't _in love_ with Arthur, and never was. He was just obsessed with his culture.

Alfred was perfectly content alone now. He made alliances, but kept things political for his own good.

But France was starting to wonder how long these two would make it before they started fucking again…

Alfred slammed down his menu in victory. "I found what I want," he said calmly.

"Vhat?" Ivan said carefully.

Alfred pointed at the menu.

"You can eat dis much?"

"Course!" the American said almost immediately.

"Um…alright…"

…

The waiter took their orders and rushed off to the kitchen. Francis and Alfred made some idle conversation while they waited for their food. Ivan just sat quietly and looked around at the Americans eating their fancy food.

Alfred ate an eight-course meal, dessert, and drank three cups of wine. He sat back in his chair after licking his plate clean. "Who's up for seconds?" he challenged.

Francis looked away in disgust. Ivan just laughed.

"Let's zee ze bill first…" France suggested. "Holy-!"

Ivan tipped the little black case down so he could read the receipt. He winced. "Just pay for your own food…" he told the Frenchman.

"Are jou serious?"

"I vill pay…" Ivan offered.

France just reached in his pocket for his wallet. "Alright…but I vill get ze tip."

Alfred leaned over Francis' shoulder to read the receipt. His breath caught. How could three people eat over two-hundred dollars in food…? He wasn't even full yet…

_This_ was _exactly_ why he preferred McDonalds' dollar menu.

He reached for his pocket to get his wallet, but Ivan covered his hand and shook his head calmly. "That's a fuckton of money," the American snapped. "You guys aren't paying that on your own."

"It is alright. I am quite vell off right now, da?"

Alfred knew that if he let them pay for the whole thing, especially when he'd eaten eighty-percent himself, then his guilt would start acting up. But, then his pride would prohibit him from admitting he felt any guilt. "I'll pay for mine," he said stubbornly. It was the easiest way to avoid the whole thing.

Ivan shook his head and snatched away Alfred's wallet. "You have kept me as your company. I am sure dat I owe you at least dis much money anyvay."

Alfred sent him a glare and tapped his fingers on the table, holding his hand out for his wallet. Ivan just held it until the waiter came back for the check.

…

"Why'd you do that?" Alfred demanded later on while they were walking to Alfred's condo. He'd been silently seething the entire time, so the walk had been moderately peaceful for the Russian.

"Dat is the whole reason vhy we became allies, da? My economy is well off, and you are the superpower. So, you protect my heart, and I vill help you if you need a small amount of money like dat."

Alfred just huffed and hitched the plastic bag higher on his shoulder. "Shut up, I'm trying to be angry at you."

Ivan just closed his eyes for a moment as they walked. "Vhere are we going tomorrow?"

Alfred turned and looked at the Russian for the first time since the restaurant. "You're staying?"

"I thought you vere gong to _make_ me, da?"

"Ah…yeah! Totally. You've gotta stay for the movies! It'll be fun, we'll eat popcorn and we can build a tent out of the couch cushions to watch it in. I used to do that all the time with…somebody…when I was little. England always got angry at us for tearing up the living room though…"

"So, vhere are we going to meet…Japan?" Ivan asked. He wasn't so sure about going to see the Asian man. He had history with Japan too…

"Oh, he usually meets me in D.C. So, I can check in with Obama real quick too!"

* * *

><p>Russian Translation-<p>

Amerika, morgaly vikalyu, padla!- America, I'll poke your eyes out, fucker!

Nikogda nota do tot snova- Never do that again

Golubaya bl'yad- Gay Whore

* * *

><p><em>Yep. I hope I'm getting Alfred perfect. I mean, he's a bit calmer, but so is everybody. I'm trying to make them more realistic. I really hate fics that make America into some kind of retard or something. He might be a bit immature and annoying, but he's not stupid.<em>

_But, that was a bit fluffy, huh? At least Alfred found a way to transport that heart. That bothered a lot of people…kinda bothered me too…and apparently him. _

_I hate empty inboxes…Leave me a review plz? _


	13. Fly Me to the Moon

_Misleading title is misleading_

_This isn't about the Space Race, so don't expect that._

_But, there is more history~ (and it's not even a crappy flashback~)_

_I'll probably not update tomorrow since I've got a cosplay meeting. But, I'm so happy that I'm starting to gather a following!_

* * *

><p>Songs-<p>

'Long Gone and Moved On' by the Script

'The Way Down' by White Tie Affair

'Please Don't Go' by Barcelona

You guys better listen to these. They're kickass songs.

* * *

><p>Alfred collapsed down into a beaten brown couch the second they got in the apartment flat. "Let's just chill for an hour," he breathed. "But, we gotta get out again when it gets dark. Philly has awesome music at night; there are bands around every block."<p>

"Whatever you vant," Ivan said calmly, seating himself in a leather recliner. He looked around the flat Alfred had. It was a bit messy and there was a thin layer of dust on everything, but he could tell that someone had cleaned it…at some point.

Alfred glanced over at the Russian from where he was sprawled out on the couch. "Hey, I'm gonna call Penny…" he said, stretching and getting up for the phone.

Ivan watched the America dialing in a number and start chatting happily with his state. He smirked at the way Alfred talked with his hands even though no one could ever see it on the other line. The American could be endearingly silly sometimes without even realizing.

Alfred stood, "Ah, yeah…lemme check…" he was saying. He walked into a back room to get his laptop.

It was starting to get to the Russian that he was leaving work undone at home. He wondered how his people were faring without him. It wouldn't be the first time that he'd left unexpectedly for a few weeks at a time. Sometimes during the winter, General Winter would steal him from his home for a month or two if Ivan had done something to anger him somehow. Though, usually he had a pretty good deal with the winter.

Ivan quietly wondered if he could borrow Alfred's laptop to check in on his nation.

The phone started beeping in Alfred's ear as Pennsylvania had started talking about her unemployment rate. "Ah…I'm really sorry, Penny. I've got another call; I'll call you back in a few…" Alfred said carefully.

_"Dad! You **always** try and avoid talking once things get too political!"_ she protested.

Alfred ran a hand through his hair, "I'm really sorry, Penn," he apologized again. "I love you, bye…"

He hung up and answered the other call. "Hello?"

_"Ah. America? May I speak to Russia?"_

Alfred looked at the number, but he didn't recognize it. If they were looking for Russia, it was probably his boss. "Um…sure…who's this?" he asked. He waited for an answer, but it never came. So, he just walked back into the living room and handed the phone to a confused Russian.

"Da?"

_"Ivan~ Mon ami~"_

"Ah…" he looked over at Alfred who was standing over him still. Ivan hated talking on the phone in front of people. "Kakoй nota do tы hotetь?" he said as he walked into the kitchen and closed the door behind himself. Maybe Alfred would leave him if he thought it was his boss.

"_Oh, do not be like zat, Ivan!"_ France moaned dramatically.

"What do you vant?" Ivan translated.

"_Have you kissed him yet_?" Francis said, giggling.

Ivan glared at the wall. "Amerika? Of course not," he scoffed.

"_Vell, I vould suggest a quiet place, preferably with low lighting and a stone fountain, or a grassy place vith lot of ze stars visible. He loves ze stars_…"

"Vhat is this?" Ivan said, confused and growing impatient.

"_I am trying to help you to get back vith America_~" Francis cooed.

"I did not ask for you to-" there was a beep on the other line.

"_Hola~ Russia_!"

"Spain?" Ivan deadpanned. "Vhat are you talking to me for? I thought that you hated me still…"

"_Eh, we could be closer_," Antonio admitted. "_But, I want to help for the sake of America_!"

"_Same here_," came another obnoxious voice.

"Prussia? Just how many people are on this line?" Ivan demanded.

"_Just us three_~" France answered calmly.

"Vhat is this?" the Russian said, leaning against the counter.

"_He just toldja_!" Gilbert said, frustrated. "_We're gettin you to patch up your relationship with the capitalist_!"

"I already made it clear that I do not vant-"

"As if we care what you _want_," Gilbert snapped. "_You're_ still an asshole. We're tryin to help out Alfie!"

Ivan rolled his eyes. "His opinion on the matter is the same as mine. He moved on as vell. And, vhy does everyone always side vith him anyway?"

"_Well…you **did** sort of start it_…" Antonio chanced tentitively.

Ivan glared at the wall. _Everyone_ always said that _he_ started it. "Explain to me why you believe this?"

France twisted his cell phone in his hands. Ivan could still be temperamental about this sometimes. "_Ivan, you cut him off from trade with you, yes? You shoved 'im away; he probably panicked. And, you tried to push your ideals onto all the countries around you… You know how Alfred is about freedom_…"

"I did not directly invade anyone," Ivan said defensively.

"_Yeah! But you sure did take over my government you sunnofabitch_!" Gilbert snapped. "_Ya pushed all your communist propaganda and blackmailed my people to put your guys in charge! Ya took over my police and military! It's your fault I'm not a country_!"

"We are not talking about you Gilbert," Ivan said coldly. "And, America did his fair-share of damage to me!"

Alfred heard yelling in the kitchen and walked over to see who Ivan was talking with. He expected it to be his boss or something, so he didn't think he would be able to understand the argument- he thought it would be in Russian. But, Ivan was yelling in English… So he must be talking to another country- probably France since he was the only one that knew he was here. (Many countries conversed in English since most of them knew it)

Alfred pressed his ear to the door. Ivan was yelling about _him_?

"He terminated the Lend-Lease aid he'd sent me! He left me to fight vith Germany alone, then he never helped me rebuild like he did for the rest of Europe!" Ivan said, anger welling in his chest. "I had to raise my taxes and squeeze my people dry just to rebuild towns and government buildings; just to return my people to daily life!"

Ivan remembered the hurt and pain Alfred had caused him through that. America was lending millions out to the other countries to help them rebuild. He'd sent economic aid during the war to help the other countries _fight_ too, and he'd helped Russia for awhile…but he broke it off so suddenly…he took it back.

It almost seemed like _spite_ that he'd sent more money to Europe and completely _**stiffed**_ the Soviet Union. Ivan had thought that _he_ and _Alfred_ would have been closer than _America_ and _Europe_. Even with their different governments, they'd still been able to get along for the most part.

Then to just abandon Ivan in his time of need…it was cruel. And Ivan remembered hearing that Alfred was sending thirty-one billion to help Britain. Now _that_ pissed him off. When had the roles of friend and enemy swapped? Did the past matter at _all_ anymore? It had left Ivan poor, insulted, hurt, betrayed, and morbidly depressed.

Alfred slouched against the kitchen door. Ivan was _still_ mad about that?

He just hadn't wanted to send the soviets money that could be used for communist expansion…

Throughout the early nineteen forties Alfred had tried _so hard_ to convince himself that things between him and Ivan would be okay. Roosevelt was always so optimistic that they would be able to cooperate with the soviets, and Alfred had tried to pretend that things would work.

But, when Roosevelt had died and Truman took over, things hit a more dismal outlook. Alfred used the nuke against Japan to end the Pacific war, and things plunged straight down.

Truman had never been as optimistic as Roosevelt, but he also might have been a bit more realistic about the situation. But then, the situation heightened anyway.

Truman told Alfred to stop pretending. He told him that it was _his_ responsibility to oppose the communist expansion now that Alfred was a superpower. Being the only one who had exposed his nuclear capability, he had to take on more responsibility now, no matter _who_ the enemy was.

And Alfred _hated_ it. He just wanted Ivan to stop before one of them got hurt.

The American slid down to the floor, his hair sticking to the wood and spiking up behind him. He could hear Ivan talking on the other line.

"I do not vant your help!-...-No!-...-You are a fool-...-That is one of the most stupid ideas I have ever heard-...-Please just do not speak-...-I wish I vould have removed all of your teeth along with your vocal cords-...-I am _not_ trying this again-...-I didn't _ask_ for help-…-When did I say _that?-_…-You be quiet-…-I am hanging up." There was a beep as the Russian ended the call. Only a few minutes had passed.

Alfred knew he should get up, but he couldn't do it. He didn't want Ivan to walk out of that door and see him sitting here so pitifully. He just wanted Ivan to forgive him and he wanted to forgive Ivan back.

He'd thought that he could use his actions instead of words. It was always so awkward to apologize aloud. So, he'd been as friendly and open as possible all week. He'd hoped it would just work itself out like things used to do with him and Ivan. They used to be so close…

Pride wouldn't allow him to _apologize_ for anything he'd seen a logical reason to do in the first place. Ivan should be able to understand the reasoning that Alfred had used. Alfred's pride was telling him he shouldn't _have_ to apologize.

Alfred needed more time. He was _sure_ that Ivan would forget about the entire Cold War if enough time passed and they became friends again.

He couldn't let Ivan leave. Or at least…if he went, he wanted to be invited to come with him to Russia for awhile. But, he'd have to get closer to the Russian to get that kind of invitation.

But, he had to admit something to himself.

He was having fun.

He was enjoying the Russian's company.

For awhile there, it felt like they had never fought in the first place.

"Alfred? Vhat are you doing on the floor?" Ivan demanded. How long had the American sat there? How much did he hear?

Alfred put on his best wide grin. "I was waitin' for you to get off the phone, Ruski! Who were ya talkin' to? France?"

Ivan stared at him. Just how much _did_ he hear? He was starting to worry. Alfred _looked_ happy enough that he might've missed all that about the Lend-Lease Termination Ivan was bashing America with. But, Ivan knew well enough that Alfred could put on a convincing fake-smile. It almost broke his heart how many emotions Alfred could hide.

"Ah…Da. France called. How much did you overhear?"

Alfred shrugged. "Just somethin about someone bein an idiot and you hangin up."

Ivan searched the American's face, but Alfred didn't give anything away. "Here is the phone," Ivan said, passing it back to the American. "You vanted to call back one of your daughters, yes?"

"Ah! Thanks…" Alfred smiled. "I should probably call Illinois too since we were just in _his_ home, and I didn't even say hi." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. He felt kinda bad about that.

Alfred dialed the phone and chatted with his kids for half an hour while Ivan looked through Alfred's small collection of books. He had mostly just the most popular books of his people. "A Tale of Two Cities, The Lord of the Rings, To Kill a Mockingbird, some Agatha Christi, The Lion the witch and the Wardrobe series, Anne of Green Gables, the Twilight books, Black Beauty, Of Mice and Men, The Da Vinci Code, the Harry Potter series, and Charlotte's Web. A lot of the books seemed below an adult's reading level, Ivan noted. He didn't really have an interest in any of them.

Once he'd hung up the phone, Alfred set about finding a place to store Ivan's heart for awhile. He found an old Coca-Cola tin from the forties that he hadn't given to a pawn shop yet. He filled it with a mixture of Vaseline and water and let the heart sit in the bathroom, under the counter- for now.

Twenty minutes later, Alfred was racing back outside with a wallet in hand. Ivan followed after him a bit more calm. They took Alfred's car down Lombard St. and back into the city where he parked it in a bank parking lot outside Rittenhouse Square.

"Live bands will come out and play music in some of the parks at night," Alfred said, grinning as he walked.

Sure enough, there was a jazz band playing some Frank Sinatra classics. The American started elbowing Ivan's side. "Frank Sinatra!" he said excitedly. "Remember him?"

Ivan turned away, "Honestly, I am not _that_ interested in your culture to know all of your music artists."

Alfred frowned. "But…I sang one of his songs at the Sixth World Festival of Youth and Students. Do you remember _that_?" he demanded. It had been one of those good moments during the fifties, when Alfred had seen Ivan and _hadn't_ wanted to rip his throat out with his teeth. In fact, it had been fun.

Ivan frowned back. "Da, I remember you corrupting my girls," he growled. He remembered girls running around with their skirts cut over their knees and their ankles showing, running around and trying to have sex with the American visitors. Ivan felt a dark aura closing around him. "And then, you sang something about wanting to go into space."

"Yeah…" Alfred muttered. "Fly Me to the Moon."

Ivan calmed down a bit as the band played.

Alfred glanced over at him. Somehow, bringing that up felt a bit counterproductive. It had been a good time for America, but he didn't consider how Russia had handled the mixing of culture. The Soviet Union had tried so hard to block out the rest of the world. Having westerners in their land must have been shocking.

"You sounded better than this…" Ivan said quietly. "This man cannot sing…"

"I can't tell if you're trying to complement _me_ or insult _him_," Alfred laughed. It was still nice to hear. "Let's find somewhere to sit…" he suggested.

They found a comfortable, shady spot under some trees and across from a large, round fountain. Alfred tried to make idle conversation, but Ivan wasn't biting any of his lines.

The Russian had almost fallen asleep when Alfred finally decided to speak up.

"Um…are you still mad?" he said cautiously.

"Vhat are you talking about?" Ivan wondered.

Alfred hesitated. He wasn't sure if he wanted to have this conversation. It might end with him having to say something he didn't want to. But still, if he wanted to get anywhere... "…Um... Since I terminated the Lend-Lease Aid that I sent you in the forties. Are you still mad? I didn't think that-"

"Don't…" Ivan cut him off. Apparently Alfred _had_ heard quite a bit when he'd been sitting outside the kitchen. Ivan didn't want to go down this road either, but if they were _ever_ going to get over the past, someone would have to talk about it. "I vas never…I am not mad…anymore. It just hurt me more than anything," the Russian admitted.

Alfred leaned back against the tree and groaned. Ivan bit into _this_ conversation choice of all the ones he'd offered? They were really going to do this? They were going to talk it out like adults? This was his worst nightmare. "I know, and I'm sorry if I put you in a bad financial situation…I just- I didn't want to give you money that I thought you would use to spread communism…"

Ivan looked at him. "That is not the only vay it hurt me you know?" he said coldly. "You gave me eleven-billion to fight Germany and then you just took it all away...!"

Alfred frowned and folded his arms over his chest. "It's not like I wanted you to get beat up, I just-"

"No! Alfred!" Ivan said, leaning forward. "You are such a tease! I thought that you vere trying to maintain our peace, but vhen you just pulled your money back…it vas like…you'd just given up on us." Ivan glared at the American for making him say such raw things.

Alfred looked back at him with wide blue eyes. "If I had given up, why would I keep coming back and trying to change you? Why would I have tried so hard to make agreements with you for antiballistic technology like the SALT treaties? I _never_ _**wanted**_ us to be enemies!" He was leaning forward too by now.

Ivan searched Alfred's face for lies. He was too good at lying. Ivan would never be able to sense it if he _were_. "So…you never completely gave up…?"

Alfred smiled sadly, his eyes soft. "Not for a day…"

"But…you still hated me," the Russian confirmed.

"With all of my heart," Alfred agreed, nodding. "I would've killed you if I coulda."

Ivan felt a grin tugging at his lips. He'd felt the exact same way. "And vhat about now?"

"Now?" Al's sad smile spread. "…We do what all friends do when trying to recover from a bad argument. We have awkward conversations and reminisce to ourselves about how wonderful things _used_ to be."

"We are friends again?" Ivan said, quirking an eyebrow. He hadn't remembered agreeing to this.

Alfred leaned against the tree again. "Well. Yeah, I guess. I mean, you paid for my food and I'ma take care of your heart, so I guess we sort of _are_ friends." He glanced over at Ivan's expression to make sure it was safe to continue. "Which is good," he sustained. "I could use more people that _don't_ want to kill me…"

Ivan laughed, falling back against the bark of the tree. Alfred stared at him. It had been awhile since he'd gotten a genuine laugh from the Russian; a real, friendly laugh at something he'd said- and he'd said some _funny_ things. Alfred smiled warmly.

"Is that vhy you have been trying to get me to stay?" Ivan said, still smiling softly. "You vere trying to fix our friendship?"

Alfred shrugged. "Well…not at first of course. At first, I was just tryin to get you better so you could get the hell out…but…I got back from the shuttle launch and you suddenly weren't a complete asshole. So…I decided that it would be beneficial for both of us to try and get along."

Ivan patted the American's shoulder. "Dat is good. Because I vas trying hard not to be an 'asshole' just so that you vould stop being so fucking annoying, and I might tolerate you easier."

Alfred pouted. "I'm _not_ annoying."

"It is a unanimous opinion," Ivan insisted, smiling pleasantly.

Alfred ignored it. "So…how long are you going to stay…? I mean…if we're trying to be friends again…how long are you planning to stay?"

Ivan's grin faded. "I vill leave on Thursday morning directly after your 'movie night' that you insist on me attending. It has been fun, but I really should get home to my responsibilities. My boss vill eventually become suspicious and look for me."

Alfred sighed and watched the saxophone players fingers moving deftly over the buttons as he played. He wanted to just reach over and grab Ivan's sleeve and tell him that he shouldn't leave.

But, Ivan had a point. They _were_ countries and they could only hide from that for a few days at a time.

* * *

><p><em>Okay. Nobody point this out. Frank Sinatra's 'Fly Me to the Moon' didn't come out until 64 and the Youth and Students festival was in 57. But, I mean…come on. I <em>_**had**__ to use that song…it fits so much better. _

_Plus, I love that song. When I was little, my mom had a wind-up music box plane that played that song. I loved that thing so much; I'd steal it and take it to my room._

_Next chapter is the movie night. I promise. I've got a lot planned for that one. If anybody has some suggestions of Japanese horror films, that would be appreciated._

_Feedback is a beautiful thing. Review?_


	14. It's Not Love

_How __**dare**__ you guys! You made me break 700 hits in one night~ XD Forcin me to be happy. How dare you._

_People sent in movie ideas, so I stayed up all night and watched all the horrors you sent. I have to say that I didn't sleep at all…it was awesome. (but i also included one or two of my own personal preferences)_

_I might be a little high off painkillers and fatigue right now…so please excuse any grammar issues…._

* * *

><p><span>Songs<span>

'I Don't Love You' by My Chemical Romance

'Man of a Thousand Faces' by Regina Spektor

'Estasi Dell Anima' from the Zombieland Soundtrack

* * *

><p>That night, Alfred stayed up into the late hours of the night on his laptop. Ivan waited patiently for the American to finish his business so that he could use the computer. He <em>was<em> in Alfred's home, so he didn't want to over-impose like he knew he was prone to doing, but at about eleven-thirty, Ivan was growing impatient.

"Alfred, I need to send a message to my boss to tell him vhere I am…also, I'd like to check how the candidates are doing for the coming elections…" He paused in the doorway, staring at the computer screen. Alfred had his headphones in and was watching…something. "Vhat are you watching…?" the Russian said in horrified awe.

Alfred looked up at him, his eyes almost watering with happy tears. "Isn't it the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?" he said in wonder. "It's called 'Epic Meal Time'…"

Ivan's face contorted in disgust. "Are they eating…?"

"It's a pig that they stuffed with a turkey that they wrapped in bacon, deep fried, stuffed with a quail, and marinated with Jack Daniels. They're topping it off with Big Mac sauce and some sliced up burger bits. They're weaving some candied bacon to wrap the pig in next…wanna watch with me? It's an experience…it's kinda turning me on," Alfred said, grinning like this was totally normal…

"_This_ is vhat you have been doing in here?" Ivan deadpanned.

Alfred grinned at him, "Yeah, man! I'm hungry… I think I'll go have a snack. You said you wanted the computer?" He held the laptop out and got up out of the computer chair. "Have at it."

Ivan just nodded to him and closed out of all that.

Alfred raided his freezer and took out some frozen patties. He heated up the stove and cooked himself a burger. He always had the best kind of dreams if he ate before going to bed. Sometimes they ended up being nightmares, but those were cool too- like a scary movie in your brain.

…

Alfred woke with a feeling in the pit of his stomach that something terrible would happen today. Maybe he'd had a nightmare last night, but if so, he couldn't remember it. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, drug himself out of bed, and shuffled across the hall to take a shower.

He stepped out the fogged doors and grabbed a towel to wrap around his waist. He shook his head like a dog trying to get dry. He glanced over at the cabinet.

Ivan heard the shower going and forced himself awake. He'd been up until this morning, sending emails and reading local news from different regions to see how things were going back home. He'd wanted to be thorough.

What France had said on the phone yesterday was really starting to get to the Russian. How could someone think that he and Alfred could fall in love again?

It was impossible.

Neither of them would allow it.

Ivan didn't want to have any unnecessary attachment to someone. He'd tried in the past. And that had been a mistake. He always had a way of driving them away for fear of losing them some other way. It was less painful if he did it himself. And the loneliness was just a steady, familiar, comfort- something he could rely on.

Alfred was a different story. He loved a lot of other countries, and had a desperate need to be loved back, but it was abrasive sometimes and people thought he was being pushy. He often tried to convince people that they could be happier if they were like him and shared his political and economic views. He was never very forceful about it, but it was always a gloating, boastful sort of thing that drove people away.

And there was a reason why Ivan and Alfred hadn't worked out the first time. It was long and complicated, but it was also very simple. They were stubborn and strong. 1949 seemed like only yesterday.

_The Soviet Union had just tested their first nuclear weapon designed off America's 'Fat Man' bomb. Ivan was sitting up and stroking it one August night in the lab where it was made, contemplating the damage it could do, when Alfred broke through the six-inch-thick metal doors. He was holding a revolver and his eyes looked distant and crazed. _

_He cocked the gun and pointed it at the communist, his finger on the trigger; not shaking at all. "Why?" was all he could manage to say as he approached quickly. His steps rang out on the polished concrete floor._

_Ivan smiled at him pleasantly. "Now we vill be even, da? You vill not hurt me…"_

_Alfred's fingers tightened around the gun. "I_ _**told**_ _you that I wasn't going to attack you…"_

_"I remember," Ivan said, nodding and getting to his feet, being followed the the barrel of the American's gun. "But…you can lie."_

_Alfred's jaw locked in anger. "When have I lied to you?"_

_Ivan sent him a glare __**filled**__ with murderous intentions. "Vhen you said you vould help me fight Germany."_

_Alfred closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I withdrew that money because you'd use it to spread communism and eat up more countries."_

_"Obviously you don't trust me," Ivan mused, an odious grin remolding his face._

_The American frowned deeply. He hated that he couldn't say that wasn't true. "No…I don't."_

_"Then vhy should I trust __**you**__?"_

_Alfred wanted to say_ _'_because **I'm** in my **sane** **mind'**, _but he didn't think it would help his case at the moment. And…considering what kind of a mad rage had brought him here…maybe __**he**__ wasn't in his 'sane mind' either. _

_Ivan watched the American closely. As usual, he was overreacting. The Soviet Union wasn't making nukes to destroy America. They were making nukes to __**protect**__ themselves from America. Why didn't Alfred realize that?_

_The gun clicked as Alfred locked it and put his hand down. "Maybe you __**shouldn't**__ trust me," he said. "Because…apparently nothing is real anymore." The American started laughing hysterically. _

_Ivan sent him a look that looked both confused and worried for his mental health._

_Alfred caught his breath and sent a cruel, smiling glare, all his teeth showing brilliantly. "I actually thought I was in __**love**__ with you! Isn't that funny! Ahahaa! YOU! It sounds disgusting just comin' off my tongue now…! Of all the crazy things I've done! __**What**__ the __**hell**__?" _

_Ivan felt the need to throw up. What had just happened? _

_Alfred swayed dangerously. He seemed drunken with rage and confusion. "I'll be waiting for you to make the first move…when you do…I will __**destroy**__ you…" _

_Ivan quirked an eyebrow. "I think it more reasonable to believe __**you**__ will attack first…"_

_Alfred's eyes grew wide with realization. He __**still**__ couldn't be the one to initiate it. Because he still cared too much to __**really**__ want to hurt Ivan. But, he also couldn't start it because…if he did…he would be __**forcing**__ Ivan to retaliate…_

So…yeah…they'd been pretty fucked up.

Ivan didn't want to try again. And he wouldn't. Things would just fall into shambles again. Ivan didn't love the American anymore. That ship had sailed, been shot down by fighter-jets, and burned to a pile of waterlogged ash the bottom of the sea.

It was nice to spend time with Alfred again, and it was good to be under the title of 'friends', but…love was completely different. Friends didn't have to be close.

But…maybe it wouldn't hurt this time?

Ivan shook his head firmly, pulling the bleached linens over his head and rolling over. The fan was on full-force and Ivan had kicked off the heavy blankets. It still felt hot. Why did it feel like someone was touching his spine?

Alfred was in the bathroom, hand immersed in the Vaseline that Ivan's heart was suspended in. He stared at the organ critically. Why had Ivan given him this?

Surely he wasn't giving him his _metaphorical_ heart? That would be craziness to even suggest. Ivan was a recluse by choice much of the time. Though, he was slowly getting better.

Alfred carefully placed the heart back into the jar. The Russian didn't mean a thing by it. Even if he did, Alfred would never be able to return such a thing…again.

A knock on the door pulled the American's attention back. "Are you almost finished?"

Alfred dried off and got dressed. Ivan took a shower after him and the two drove to the airport. "We could just drive to your capital…" Ivan suggested at one point.

"It would take five or six hours by car when it can be done in two by plane."

"How wasteful. It is no wonder vhy you are in such debt."

The plane ride was pretty much silent. Alfred texted while Ivan just read a pamphlet that had been in the back of the seat ahead of them.

For once, Alfred had decided they should take a commercial airline instead of his private jet. He could get tickets for spaces that hadn't been sold, for free if he just gave identification to someone at the front desk, at any airport in America. It would become expensive to keep refilling the fuel in the jet.

When they arrived in D.C. Alfred called a driver to the airport to take him to his home on Pennsylvania Avenue. "You can't miss it…it's big and white…"

"You mean the White House? I can't just drop you off on the front lawn you know," the chuffer said, turning back in his seat and scrutinizing America.

Alfred just smiled and went into his wallet, taking out a card with his face on it. "I've got authorization to go _anywhere_ in this country with absolutely _no_ questions asked."

Alfred's boss greeted the two as they stepped in one of the back entrances of the White House. He seemed friendly enough, but it was a very polished sort of kindness, one that had been practiced and manicured to be performed over and over.

He shook Ivan's hand vehemently, gushing about Ivan's upcoming elections and how happy he was for the Russian. Ivan just accepted the pleasantry with a smile as he was used to doing.

Alfred raided the White House kitchens. He loved staying in the capital. There were always chefs in the president's house that would bake him cakes and give him ice cream while he talked with his boss.

Ivan was given a tour of the house by the president's two daughters, Malia and Sasha while Alfred and the president discussed ideas to raise the debt ceiling.

Kiku arrived later that night while Ivan was still being led through a hall of paintings of the previous presidents. Obama excused his country to go handle the international relations while he held a meeting of the house representatives down the street.

Alfred jumped up and down, clenching his fists. "Whatcha bring? Oh, it's been so long since you've been over to watch movies! Decades! I've made _tons_ of epic horrors since you were here last time. Whatcha bring?"

The small Asian man reached into a grey canvas bag that was draped over his shoulder. "I've got Audition by Miike Takashi, Ringu by Koji Suzuki, and Ju-On the Grudge. I thought that you would enjoy those," he said with a small smile. It had been a long time since the two had found time to just hang out, and though Kiku would always find Alfred insufferably annoying, it was still endearing in a way.

"And this is the Blue Room that leads out the South Portico entrance! We use it when we hold ceremonies in the back!" Sasha was saying. She was gripping Ivan's hand and helping her sister drag the Russian on their tour. They loved having nation representatives visit.

Kiku heard the loud talking and the sound of footsteps on tiles. He looked up to see Ivan being dragged by the two girls. There was an instant irritation in the Japanese man, but there was absolutely no way to tell he was angry at all. He just went silent and stoic.

Ivan was _smiling_ as the two girls brought him back to where Alfred was standing with Kiku. The smile dropped instantly in seeing the Asian man again. He hadn't thought it would piss him off so much.

Alfred was rummaging in the shoulder bag that was strapped over the shorter man's torso. "Ah, we should totally watch Mirrors! And the Amityville Horror…and…um…what did we watch last time you were here?"

"Halloween, Nightmare on Elm Street, Psycho, and Friday the Thirteenth," Kiku replied, still keeping eye-contact with the Russian.

Alfred smiled brightly. "Alright! Then we should watch the remake of Nightmare on Elm Street and the other three you said you had!"

Ivan stared at the two. "We are going to vatch _six_ movies in one night?"

Alfred looked at his watch. "We've got plenty of time…" he said calmly. He looked at Malia. "Would you girls mind sharing a room just for tonight?" he said sweetly, giving his best puppy-dog eyes.

The older daughter smiled. "Sure, Alfred. Just…use the spare bed. Last time you got food crumbs everywhere."

Alfred grinned. He loved the presidential families. They were always the closest thing to a family he had besides England, France, and Canada…but they were countries, so it wasn't the same. "I'll get out the spare cot too. Ruski's spending the night."

"Really?" Sasha said, jumping a little.

"Really?" Kiku growled weakly. He did not want to be rude, but staying in the same room as the Russian was bad enough, why must he spend so much time here? Why was he here in the first place? Alfred hadn't mentioned this.

The American hardly noticed the tension between those two.

Alfred lead the other two upstairs to the living floor of the White House. They borrowed the West Bedroom and set up their things on the coffee table. There was a flat-screen in the wall and a DVD player over the mantel.

"You should cover the windows…" Ivan suggested. "It vould make the room darker…for you…if you want to be frightened that badly."

"Awesome idea!" Alfred cried, and he covered the windows with heavy bed sheets so the room went dark. "Let's watch Nightmare on Elm Street first!" he said excitedly.

The movie didn't freak Alfred out that badly really. It was just a lot of gore and moments to make you jump, but there was nothing in there that was as scary as ghosts. You could fight Freddy Krueger if you wanted. He would probably kill you, but you could still fight…

Kiku put in 'Audition' next. He sat calmly on the far side of the couch, sending a glare to the Russian.

"Do not look at me like that," Ivan said finally. "I am not doing anything to you, da?"

Alfred looked over at the Asian. "What's wrong Kiku?"

"It is nothing. Watch the movie."

So they did. Alfred sat in the middle of the cushy couch, sitting forward at first when the movie started in a hospital, but when there were no exploding IV bags or haunted hospital equipment, he got bored and fell asleep. Kiku shook him awake so he'd see the ending when the girl finally exposed what was so odd about her.

"Okay!" Alfred said, "Now…we get to the _good_ stuff! Let's watch the Grudge!"

The American was alright for the first ten minutes of the movie, all the way through the suicide scene then through the maid part, but when the volunteer girl was drug up into the attic; Alfred was screaming like a little girl and burying himself in the couch. It only escaladed from there. He jumped into the Asian man's lap at least twice- to Ivan's disgust.

Kiku had seen the movie so many times and the storyline was illogical. He watched the Russian's expressions when Alfred was clinging to his arm. Why did Ivan look so angry? He didn't really care. He was just glad that it upset the Russian.

When the movie had gone off, Alfred had eaten a whole bag of Chex Mix, some popcorn, and two cokes. "We gotta watch Amityville Horror next," he said, still trembling from the Grudge.

It had gotten dark outside by now. The clock read that it was almost midnight. "Maybe we should take a break…" Kiku suggested. "You're shaking, Alfred-san."

The American just grinned, "Nonsense! It's almost midnight, that's the _best_ time to watch horror films!"

Ivan just smirked. The American was so terrified of ghosts…but he watched these movies anyway? Was he a masochist?

The next movie was playing and Alfred was okay at first while the action built. He slowly shoved himself deeper into the couch cushions as the movie progressed. Finally, in the last few scenes, when the father of the house was going crazy and found the tunnels under the house, Alfred had started screaming and dove behind Ivan, arms gripping around his waist like he was a huge teddy bear- or human meat-shield. Ivan could feel the American's trembling.

Ivan was unused to comforting people who were terrified at something that _wasn't_ him. He turned himself around and pulled the American out from behind him. The movie was still making gruesome noises in the background. "Ne realьnый, Fredka… ne realьnый…" Ivan said gently.

Alfred just gripped tightly to Ivan's waist until the family finally escaped the house. It freaked him out even more that it was based off a real story!

They watched 'The Ring' next. Kiku loved this movie. It scared the shit out of Alfred. Especially the scene where the girl crawls out of the television, Alfred had himself barricaded behind blankets and pillows and Ivan and Kiku, anything he could bury himself with and hide.

Alfred pointed to the cabinet when the movie had ended. "Ivan…can you get out 'Mirrors' for me please?"

"Ah…da," the Russian replied with a smile. He moved around the coffee table to the cabinet where the movies were kept. He read the spines of their cases. He found the one with red letters on the side that read 'Mirrors' and he flicked it away from the others. He held it up. "This one, da?"

Alfred cringed at the creepy face on the front. "Y-yeah…"

The movie started and Alfred was screaming the second the janitor's reflection killed him with a shard of glass. He didn't let go of Ivan at all after that.

Japan watched Alfred gripping to the Russian and felt disgusted. Were these two becoming friends again…? He'd thought that this madness had ended a century ago. Did this mean that Alfred was going to make him try and befriend the Russian? No chance of _that_…not after Port Arthur.

* * *

><p>Translation-<p>

Ne realьnый- Not real

* * *

><p><em>Yeah. I'm really not sure how to portray Obama. I don't keep up with what his personality is like besides the fact that he tries to be a crowd-pleaser type (like every politician). And I don't know where the family sleeps (it might be creepy if I did). <em>

_I'm actually neutral about Obama right now. He hasn't really screwed up yet but he really hasn't done anything either. So, I'll save my opinions for when something really happens._

_Please review?_


	15. Bloody Sister

_Okay, so I've copied ideas in this thing from __**billions**__ of places it seems…_

_The first few chapters are mine. I just used some current events I saw on my way home from Canada (like the riot at the 4__th__ of July fireworks) _

_The scars was a mixture of hearing everyone saying that Ivan's got scars under his scarf, and just thinking about how things would be for these people in real life._

_Will/Confederate America- belongs to the Blurple Mage on Deviantart_

_I do not own Edward McKays (duh)_

_History does not belong to meh. _

_The Choosen End on Livejournal_

_Stepbrothers (the movie)_

_The story of Resurrection Mary_

_Humon on deviantart_

_Epic Bacon by ArticNorth on Deviantart_

_Canadian Bakin by HinoNeko (sort of)_

_Several stories that had the heart kink_

_Yeah…I think that's everything. I'm sure some of my other ideas were already done before, but I didn't see it if so, so I thought it was my idea. Anyway. _

* * *

><p><span>Songs-<span>

'Pound of Flesh' by Regina Spektor

'Room of Angel' by Akira Yamaoka

'Crazy' cover by Wakey!Wakey!

* * *

><p><em>January, 1905,<em>

_"Ivan! Look, I know you're mad that you had to surrender…but you __**have**__ to calm down…" Alfred pleaded. _

_The Russian man was pacing, his back stiff as a board and his arms folded behind his back. "Do not speak to me right now, Fredka," Ivan said calmly. There was no malice in his tone, if anything just disappointment. _

_Alfred closed his eyes and leaned forward in the armchair he'd occupied. They were in the Russian's living room, meeting to discuss Japan's recent aggression and Ivan's surrender. "We need to discuss this. I'm sick of you guys fighting over here all the time." Alfred said, ignoring the Russian's wish for silence. _

_Ivan turned stiffly. "You vould __**love**__ if he kept this up and just killed me," he spat. _

_Alfred slammed his hands down and stood. "What the __**hell**__?" he shouted. "When did I make you think that?"_

_Ivan sent a dark glare and balled his fists. "It vould be easiest if someone got me out of the vay for you, da?"_

_Alfred's expression calmed, but he still looked impatient. "Ivan, I was only worried about your recent…aggression… If you thought I was supporting Japan because I gave him sympathy, than I'm sorry! I'm not supporting __**either**__ of you, I'm trying to __**stop**__ you from fighting…"_

_Ivan laughed, "You are a bit late for that, vouldn't you agree?" he said softly. He dropped down onto the floor by his coffee table and took a shot of vodka. "You know…vodka is made of potatoes…" he looked over at the American. "Did you know that? The German man might be interested to know that..." Ivan mused._

_Alfred just stared at him. "Ivan. Don't change the subjects. What's been up with you lately?" His eyes were full of concern and sympathy. "Is something wrong?"_

_Ivan frowned. "Do not look at me like that. It is already humiliating enough to surrender. I could have lasted for months still…but it vas useless." He didn't like how Alfred was staring. He poured another shot and held out the bottle to the American. "I vill get him back. He is not as strong as he is trying to act…he is still new to the modern world, and I am larger and stronger."_

_"That's not what I meant…" Alfred said calmly. "You've been picking on the weaker countries around you, and…well…you're not doing so well yourself…what's up?"_

_Ivan drank down his shot. "The Tsars are falling, Alfred. There have been riots and protests…I have tried to calm them…but, the end of my system is inevitable. And…Japan is not helping at all. I have already lost almost ninety-thousand men."_

_Alfred frowned and lifted the bottle of vodka. It wasn't his favorite, but he needed some sort of tonic. He poured himself a small shot. "I don't think that retaliation is the answer," he said calmly. "You'll only be sacrificing more men. Japan might be small, but he doesn't give up when it comes to honor. I think the best thing would be for you two to talk it out and be reasonable…"_

_Ivan fell back onto the floor completely. He was tired and his joints ached. He'd lost one of his ports and he'd been cut off from Manchuria completely. "Why are __**you**__ getting involved?" he demanded. "Just let us handle this."_

_Alfred rolled his eyes. This was sounding suspiciously familiar. 'Let the adults talk it out, Alfred'. He was tired of hearing it. It was __**his**__ chance to have a place in politics. He was confident that he could prevent wars…and make his place in the world known. _

_"I'm preventing you eastern people from killing each other. You should be grateful. I'll mediate your talks if you just agree to them. Remember when you mediated me and Arthur? It's the same thing…" Alfred supplied, holding his shot glass up and nodding._

_Ivan set down his glass with a muffled 'tap'. "I vill not discuss peace meetings vhen I am the one losing. It sounds like pleading for mercy. I am not that weak."_

_"What is it with you and having to be stronger than everyone?" Alfred demanded. "Kiku's the same frickin way! 'Perusing peace show weakness'" he said in his best Asian accent. "Deciding that you don't wanna fight isn't cowardly or weak. It's smart and mature."_

_Ivan laughed. "__**You're **__lecturing about __**maturity**__?" the Russian teased lightly. _

_Alfred rolled his eyes and grinned. "Yep!" he said brightly. "And I'll tell you this. I'm not going to stop you if you try to get even, but…if you do…it won't work…" his smile faded. "And when you fail. Please come to me for help."_

_Ivan stared at him. Their relationship was becoming strained over the past two years. They didn't speak as often and Ivan was often distracted by the Russo-Japanese war. Alfred still came over to visit, but usually it was just to convince Ivan not to fight. _

_The Russian knew he was doing the same thing with the Japanese man. He didn't like to think about Alfred visiting other people; especially with the way that most of __**their**__ meetings went after the discussions were over. But, he trusted Alfred not to cheat._

_Ivan tried one last time to defeat Japan by sailing his Baltic ship to the country, but it was systematically destroyed by the Japanese. _

_Five months after Alfred had visited, Ivan finally took him up on his offer. Kiku agreed as well and the three countries and their leaders sat down to talk it out. The rest of the world was shocked that America could get the two stubborn bulls to even sit in the same room. _

_Alfred's boss, Roosevelt, suggested that the two countries split Korea and the other land they were fighting over. Japan dropped his demand for payment gave Russia the north part of the Sakhalin Islands. Ivan gave up the south part of the Manchurian Railroad and Liaotung Peninsula. _

_The final treaty was signed in September, the Treaty of Portsmouth. __Alfred stood with a hand on both countries' shoulders and grinned as their leaders signed off on the agreement. _

_But, the agreement wasn't perfect and neither country was completely satisfied. Revolts and outcries continued, but at least the war had ceased. The Russian revolution followed soon afterwards, and Ivan had to cut all ties to Alfred for a few years until he could try and get things to settle a bit. _

Kiku didn't know what was going on between those two, even now, he hardly understood their relationship, but he didn't like it. Alfred was his friend and Ivan was no good…for anyone.

Ivan was still as vindictive as ever. The Cold War had been the reason why he and Alfred had completely fallen apart, and that was caused by the spreading of communism, which was begun in Russia by Lenin during the Russian Revolutions- that were directly begun by the loss of the Russo-Japanese war. If Kiku had never attacked Russia, things may have turned out differently…

In essence, Ivan blamed Kiku for everything.

He didn't like that Alfred and the Japanese man were so close, but if he wanted to get along with Alfred for the good of his country, he would have to tolerate the Asian.

So, they were standing down in the lower levels of the White House while Alfred raided a large industrial-sized refrigerator for the proper midnight-snack-food. Kiku stood tensely next to the tall Russian. Why did he have to tower over him like that?

Alfred returned from the kitchen with some cookie dough and an ice cream scooper. "Kay…you guys could've gone to bed, y'know…" he said. He was still shaking slightly and there was a twitchy paranoia to his step. He looked around every corner before walking and was always watching his back.

"And leave you down here alone in this condition?" Kiku says, putting a hand on Alfred's shoulder.

The American just grins. "I'm fine, really!" he says, but there's a tapping noise behind him and he turns. He wasn't wearing his glasses, so it could just be his eyes, but Alfred _swore_ he saw something scamper behind one of the walls. The American's heartbeat accelerated a bit and he clenched his fist around the bucket of cookie dough.

"…ясно" Ivan muttered, turning and walking down the hall to the main staircase.

Alfred watched his back, swearing he heard giggling echo down the hallway. He held the tub off cookie dough closer like it could protect him.

"Are you okay, Alfred-san?" Kiku said, concerned. Alfred was being especially jumpy.

"Y-yeah…" the American said, giving a grin. His brain _always_ went crazy when he was paranoid. He started imagining things. His heart was racing, but he couldn't let the others know how terrified he was of the dark staircase they were coming to. He ran ahead of Ivan, skipping every other stair to get in the front. Being the last person on a staircase was nerve-wracking.

Alfred practically _ran_ back to the room and plopped back down on the couch in the mass of blankets that he'd been previously buried in. He opened the cookie dough and dug in his spoon. "So, I'm thinkin we should just stay up all night since it's already four…" Alfred said.

Kiku winced. He did _not_ want to pull an all-nighter to have 'fun'. Alfred did this the last time he'd been over in the seventies to watch horror films. He was probably afraid to go to sleep because that would mean turning all the lights out. Last time, Alfred had crawled into the Asian's bed and put pillows around himself.

"No, Alfred."

Kiku jumped, startled when Ivan spoke so sharply right next to him. Alfred was glaring at the Russian with a dozy expression.

"I am leaving tomorrow morning and you vill be getting back to vork. You _will_ go to sleep," Ivan demanded, taking care to actually pronounce his 'w' on 'will'.

Alfred sighed. "Fine…but only cause I owe you money."

Ivan sighed; the American would _never_ give up on that…he'd pay him back on his death bed if he had to. Which, with his economy, that might be the case. But, he was too stubborn, and Ivan would have to humor him.

So, the three set up two cots with the heavy blankets as extra cushion to make it more comfortable. Ivan had planned to sleep on one, but it was about five inches too short and his feet hung over the back.

Alfred took his glasses off and put them on the bedside table. He glanced over at Ivan who's feet were hanging over the back of the cot. "You can just have the spare bed…" he supplied, getting up. Normally he wouldn't give up the comfortable bed, but he was afraid that if he didn't sleep between Ivan and Kiku, they might start another war.

The lights went out.

Alfred pulled his blanket up higher over his head, but his brain was going crazy. He kept imagining the girl from grudge crawling out of the television, a demon possessing him and breaking his arms and legs in half, looking in a mirror and having his reflection kill him when he turns his back, something scampering across the floor to bite him and infect him, or a ghost stealing him from his bed while he slept to take his body to use to live again.

Every shadow looked like a threat, every chair or shirt on the floor looked like a demon. Alfred burrowed himself deeper into the comforter on the cot.

It wasn't long until Kiku's breathing had become gentle on the cot next to him. Alfred peeked his head up across the room to see if Ivan was asleep yet. He didn't stir and his side was rising and falling slowly, so it was quite possible.

Alfred sat up. He was the only one awake?

Oh God…

Ivan slept like a bear, so he would be no protection if he was asleep. And Kiku wasn't exactly strong after he was stripped of a military in the forties. If something happened, Alfred would be the only one there…and as horror movies often proved, even a strong protagonist can easily be killed by the supernatural.

Alfred couldn't technically 'die', but he could be killed. It would hurt like hell and he'd have to heal again. He didn't want to be possessed either…what if he killed his first family…? He could do a lot of harm with his strength…

The American didn't even realize that he was trembling. A wave of cold air washed over him and he jolted up off his cot. He looked up. The air conditioner had just kicked on…

The floor creaked. Alfred held his arms in a fighting position before he realized what had happened. He calmed down slowly. He couldn't sleep like this…maybe he could make it to morning?

There was a quiet tapping at the door.

No, he wasn't going to make it. He leaned over the side of the cot to check the floor before putting his feet down. He then looked up to check his back and both sides. He even chanced a glance at the ceiling. Once his feet touched the wood floor, he scampered across the room.

He was startled several times by something moving right next to him, but it was just the outline of his hair in the dark. He was shaking so bad right now…

He peeled the covers back and crawled under them, gripping a pillow and staring at the wall.

"Vhat are you doing?" came a harsh whisper.

Alfred covered his mouth so he wouldn't scream. He rolled over slowly to meet two light purple-blue eyes staring at him intensely. The small amount of light that shone in through the hall was reflecting off Ivan's face to make it seem even darker where the shadows stretched across it.

"I can't sleep," Alfred hissed back.

Ivan's glare didn't lighten. "Vhat do you expect I can do for you?" he demanded in a hushed voice.

Alfred was starting to get a bit creeped out by the Russian _himself_, but the tapping at the door started again and Alfred burrowed deeper under the covers and nearly into the Russian's chest for his protection.

Ivan glanced across the room. What was that noise anyway? It almost sounded like a small animal was clawing at the door. It was quite possible that was the case. Ivan had met the family's little poodle earlier that day on his 'tour'.

Alfred was currently trying to hide under the sheet, putting his head under the pillows. Ivan looked at him sympathetically. It wasn't like the Russian was without fear. He just didn't fear the same things.

He couldn't _believe_ he was doing this… "Alright…you can sleep here," he gave in. "But, stay closest to de vall, and do not move dis pillow." The Russian took one of the pillows he'd had his head on and placed it between them.

Alfred smiled shyly and crawled over to the other side of the bed. He would feel safest close to the wall and behind a six-foot giant. He piled pillows around him and between him and the wall.

He'd wanted Ivan to stay awake until he fell asleep, but the Russian was already out again. So…he was alone.

Alfred stared at the ceiling. He really _should_ be worrying about the debt he was drowning in. But, he couldn't be afraid of falling under at the moment when there were scarier things like ghosts and demons crawling around the room.

He glanced over at the Russian. His back was turned and he was breathing evenly. Across the room, Kiku was lying on his back sleeping calmly. How did those movies not scare them at all?

Alfred tried to sink further under the sheets, but when he did that, it felt like something would grab his feet, so he brought them up and curled into a ball.

He was starting to calm down and feel the grips of fatigue starting to pull him under when he made a horrifying discovery.

He needed to pee...

He sat up and looked around the room. There was _no_ way he was going into the bathroom where there were mirrors everywhere…

"Ivan!" he whispered frantically. The Russian didn't respond. He must really be asleep- or just ignoring Alfred. The American shoved him roughly. "Ivan!" he whispered, leaning over.

The Russian tensed but still tried to ignore him. Alfred was just scared, that was all. But, he'd have to deal with it eventually. After another shove, Ivan turned angrily. "Vhat?"

"I've gotta pee…" Alfred muttered.

Ivan just stared at him. "Really?" he said, exasperated. "You know vhere de bathroom is. Do not wake me up for useless things." With that, he rolled over again and pulled the sheets up.

Alfred poked him again. "Don't be such a bear…" he whispered.

"I'm _not_ going to the bathroom vith you," Ivan growled.

"Will you go check the mirror at least? I…"

Ivan closed he eyes and took a deep breath. He rolled back over to face the American. Alfred was sitting up and clutching the blanket. He seemed terrified by the _prospect_ of looking into a mirror. Ivan frowned and let out a sigh. "Alfred…it vas just a movie. Besides…has anything like vhat happened in the movie ever happened to you _before_?"

Alfred shook his head.

"Then vhy vould it _now_?" he reasoned.

The American bit his lip. He didn't have to use the bathroom _that_ bad, but it had already been thought about. He wouldn't be able to sleep now.

"I-" Alfred didn't want to straightforward _say_ that he was afraid, but he figured it was pretty obvious by now. "I'm scared…okay. It's not rational. It's a phobia."

Ivan gave him an impatient look, "Of mirrors? I highly doubt that considering how self-centered you are…"

Alfred glared at him. "No…of ghosts…I don't know. I- You can't fight a ghost. If I could-"

Ivan kicked his feet over the side of the bed. "Fine."

"Really?" Alfred perked up.

The Russian just nodded. Hopefully this would get him to shut up. "I'll go look at your mirror if it makes you feel better," he said patiently. "But after this…you _must_ go to sleep."

Alfred nodded, "I promise!"

He scrambled after Ivan who was already on his way out the door. The ghosts seemed afraid of the Russian because Alfred didn't feel like he was being followed anymore. He walked directly into the bathroom, but Alfred hung back by the door.

"So?" he asked. "What's your reflection doing?"

Ivan turned and looked at the American. "It is looking at you."

"R-really?" Alfred said, peeping his head through the door and glancing at the mirror. He ducked back when he saw his reflection. His heart was pounding again. He hated being such a paranoid little kid…

Ivan held out a hand. He had deep bags under his eyes from being tired. "Come here. Stop being such a kid, I vant to go to sleep."

Alfred stepped back into the bathroom and looked at his reflection. He stood perfectly still and waited for it to move. When nothing happened, he turned to Ivan. "Will you do 'Bloody Mary'…?" he pleaded. This would be the ultimate test to prove that there was nothing to be afraid of. If _this_ didn't work, Alfred could be sure he was just paranoid…

Ivan just stared at him, "Vhat is 'Bloody Mary'? I thought that vas an alcoholic drink…"

Alfred quirked an eyebrow. "Well…yeah it's that too, but it's also a little legend we've got…if you say 'Bloody Mary' three times in a dark room in front of a mirror, she's supposed to come through it and claw out your eyes and take your soul into the mirror…"

"And this is to prove a point…isn't it?" Ivan deadpanned. Alfred probably wasn't going to go to sleep if he still felt paranoid. And if the American didn't fall asleep, he would keep Ivan up. There was no helping it. "Alright, turn out the light."

Alfred stepped out of the room and turned the light off. He watched intently as the Russian turned to the mirror.

"Bloody Mary," he began, his accent making it sound a bit off. "Bloody Mary." Alfred flinched and knotted his fingers together in anticipation. "Bloody Mary," the Russian finished.

Alfred had his eyes closed and his hands knotted in his hair. If Ivan really got killed he'd feel totally responsible…

But nothing happened, and the American looked up in shock. Ivan was just grinning vindictively. "Oh…um…thanks I guess?" Alfred said awkwardly.

There was a loud cracking noise and glass suddenly shattered across the room, spraying the two in thick shards that cut across their faces. Alfred screamed and fell over. In the panic there was another shout and a plea for help.

The American couldn't ignore someone in trouble, he was the hero after all. He sat up in the wreckage and found is bearings. The mirror was perfectly intact, besides a chip or two. It was the window that had broken. Then he saw _her_.

She had long blonde hair and was covered in cuts and bruises. She was wearing a long dress with lace. It was torn up in places. Her expression was terrifying, desperate and threatening at the same time. And the worst part: she was trying to carry Ivan out the window at knife-point.

Alfred fought off the urge to faint right then and there. Mary was real?

Ivan started screaming and cursing in Russian as he struggled. Alfred got to his feet, ripping a shard of glass out of his cheek. "Goddamnit…" he muttered, noting how it bled. He was really going to try and kill Mary? "This is madness…" he muttered through clenched teeth.

Ivan was crying now, shaking his head and pleading in Russian. The woman whispered back, her voice creaking like a rusty door hinge. She nuzzled her face into Ivan's neck affectionately. Ivan just screamed in fear.

Alfred swallowed his anger and fear and charged forward, clutching the bathroom counter and jumping into the air. "No…THIS IS SPARTA!" he shouted, and his foot made contact with Mary's face.

She lost her grip on Ivan and was thrown back through the window. Her scream was heard until a quiet thump signaled that she'd hit the ground a few stories below.

"Natalia!" Ivan shouted, rushing to the window and making to jump.

Alfred grabbed his wrist, pulling him back and grabbing his waist. "Dude!"

"Dat is my sister!" Ivan replied heatedly.

"What the hell is going on in here?" a deep voice shouted.

Both men turned. Alfred dropped his grip on Ivan's waist awkwardly. The first family was awake, along with Kiku and several White House employees. The president had spoken up.

"Alfred…you're bleeding…" Obama noted carefully.

"Why is this Sparta?" Sasha asked curiously.

"W-well…Bloody Mary jumped through the window…and-…" Alfred didn't even know _how_ to explain what had just happened…

* * *

><p><em>I had <em>_**waaayyy**__ too much fun with that. It was for my own enjoyment really. But…that's pretty much how I react after watching horror films at midnight…_

_I've got complaints about the accents so I'm thinking about just giving up on them, but I probably won't. I only use them to help differentiate between speakers a bit better, but apparently people are over-thinking it and getting confused. I'm not gonna change __**all**__ of Ivan's 'w's to 'v's. It would be even harder to understand. _

_Also, I've been asked what my name is on Deviantart, but I didn't wanna give it out since I didn't want people to see my crappy pictures. But, I put up some more and it's not…-as- bad. So, if anyone is actually wondering. I'm Cynicide78. _

_Please Review. I'd love your feedback!_


	16. Dance?

_I always have this feeling that my inbox is hiding review messages from me… That, or I'm really not as popular as I think I am. Yeah…that's probably it._

_I'm sad now._

_I hope this chapter doesn't reflect that too bad._

_No history this time guyz. I'm sorreh._

* * *

><p>Songs<p>

'Dotted Lines' by Sweet Talk Radio

'Dance so Good' by Wakey!Wakey!

'Substitution' by Silversun Pickups

* * *

><p>The president was pinching the bridge of his nose as Alfred tried to explain what had just happened while pressing a wet compress to his wounded cheek. Obama had excused his family, telling them that he would take care of it all. Ivan put a heavy hand on the American's shoulder to cease his explanation.<p>

"It vas my sister," the Russian apologized. "She must have found out that I vas staying vith Amerika and she came looking for me. I am sorry about the vindow. I vill pay to have it repaired…"

"Thank you, Mr. Russia," the president said cordially. "But, something still bothers me… The windows are all reinforced…" Obama muttered. "And there are cameras _everywhere_ and guards…how the hell did she get in?" he wondered.

Ivan shivered. "She has her ways…but…is she alright?"

Kiku returned to the destroyed bathroom wearing a mentally scared expression. "Gomennasai, Ivan-san!" he said, bowing quickly. "I-I had no idea that your sister-" he cut himself off before he could say something the Russian would take offensively. "Gomennasai!" he repeated, bowing deeper.

Ivan just lifted a curious eyebrow.

The Asian man made to bite his nails. "Oh…I feel so sorry for those guards…"

"Wait…what happened Japan?" Obama demanded, his foot crunching in broken glass.

The Japanese man looked back and forth between Alfred and Ivan for a minute. "I-" he hesitated. "I had to knock her out…she woke up and started climbing back up the wall…"

"Epic, man!" Alfred said excitedly. "I bet you went all ninja!"

Obama sent America a quick warning glare, glancing over at the Russian for signs of unintended offense.

To everyone's shock, Ivan just let out a sigh of relief. "You did vell…" he said, reaching out to pat the Asian's head. "Though…she _will_ vake up soon…and she'll come back…"

"Ah, actually," Kiku began again. "The guards are going to return her to Belarus to be watched over by her boss."

There was very little comfort in that for the Russian. If his sister could escape her boss once, she'd do it again. There was only one way to avoid her, and that was to get out of the capital. But, he had a feeling that Alfred couldn't do that. He'd avoided his responsibilities for too long.

Ivan's sister had become even clingier since the Soviet Union dissolved. She'd felt that Ivan was trying to distance himself from her, which wasn't really the case- it was just a perk.

There was a 'tsk tsk' sound from off to the side. The president was leaning against the sink where he'd brushed the shards of glass clean. "She'll get away again…" he said calmly. "Alfred's told me stories about her. And, I've met her and her boss before. She's too strong-willed and persistent to be held back that easily. Alfred."

Alfred wasn't exactly listening to the conversation, but he turned when his boss addressed him. "Yeah?"

"I want you to escort Ivan to a secluded location where she won't find him. We need to give it some time to die down and for her to get calm. Then, we'll return him to his country."

"Who? Mary?" Alfred said innocently.

Ivan closed his eyes. "No…my sister, Belarus. She is the one that broke through the window…"

Alfred stared at him blankly for a moment. "So…Bloody Mary's not real then…?"

"No, Alfred."

"And…you've gotta stay because it's your sister?"

"Apparently."

"Oh."

Kiku looked over at the two of them. Neither one seemed _that_ upset to hear that they'd be stuck together for an extended period. They were obviously friends again.

But what worried Kiku was how _long_ they would settle for that. There was always too much tension between those two. It was usually so thick it could be felt from across the room and became distracting. They seemed to be distancing themselves from those feelings, but it was only a matter of time. And when they finally gave in, Japan wanted to be around to get photos. Elizabeta would like that.

But for now, Kiku had business to deal with at home. They were still trying to shut down the nuclear plant that had been hit by the tsunami. The Japanese man looked over at the other two nations. They were discussing where they should go that would be out of the way.

"Okay! Let's head north," Alfred said happily. "Hopefully it won't be as hot there. You wanna come Kiku?"

Kiku jumped at the sudden attention. "Ah, no…no thank you. I've got things to do at home…I'm flying back later today."

"Oh…"Alfred said, a little disappointed.

"In fact, I should be heading to the airport now…"

Alfred frowned. "You gotta leave so soon?"

"It's about the nuclear plant."

The American sank down, "Oh…yeah…of course, sorry."

Alfred _always _backed down if it was about recovering from some disaster, even if that was long in the past. Kiku allowed himself to be hugged goodbye and he turned for the door. He chanced one last look back at the American and the Russian before turning around.

He still didn't _like_ Ivan and he still felt a little protective of Alfred over this, but the Russian had given him no reason for Kiku to hate him so far. And, meeting his sister, it was becoming obvious why the Russian was so reserved and creepy.

And…he and Alfred were getting alone beautifully. So, Kiku wouldn't get in the way this time.

They could make it work now. Alfred might make the same mistake over and over, but Ivan would learn from the past. And, in their sane minds, they were good for each other. They balanced each other out and calmed each other down.

But…if one of them slipped again and threatened the world order, all hell could break loose. It was a delicate balance.

Kiku made his way through the White House, looking at the scenery and thinking. He would keep a careful eye on those two- for Alfred's protection.

"Well," Obama was saying, standing up from the sink and looking at the glass shards on the floor. "I'll have to keep the press away from this one…"

Alfred nodded. "The American people have got enough on their minds without thinking that the White House is unsafe."

The President just nodded grimly. "You two go clean each other up, I've got to call a staff meeting." With that, the president left the two alone.

Alfred frowned and sat on the edge of the tub. "Ah…my face hurts…"

Ivan just chuckled and sat next to the American. "Vell, it is _killing_ me."

Alfred just rolled his eyes and leaned to the side against the wall. He had several cuts on his bare arms and legs as well. But, the glass shards had already worked themselves out, so he just had to stop the bleeding. He pressed the wet towel to his leg to wash it up, but he felt the cut on his face dripping again, so he had to just forget it for now.

"Here…"

Alfred turned. Ivan was holding his hand out gently. His face looked concerned and impatient. He took the towel from Alfred's fingers and ripped it in two. "H-hey!" the American protested, but Ivan just ignored him and pressed one half to Alfred's cheek and wiped the blood up with the other.

Alfred just sent him a bitter look. "Good at cleaning up blood, aren't we? Had practice?"

Ivan laughed, "Don't be sour. I am only helping."

Alfred didn't like how the Russian was looking at him so gently. He snatched back the rag. "I can handle it myself! And…besides…you didn't have to tear up the towel…"

"You needed two pieces, da?" the Russian reasoned calmly.

"Then ya should've got another towel…" Alfred snapped. "You…your scarf…"

Ivan looked down. His neck was bleeding where Natalia had held the knife to it. It was getting blood all over his scarf. "Chyort voz'mi!" he cried frantically. He tore the scarf off and ran to the tap, trying to soak out the stain. Meanwhile, the cut was bleeding freely onto his shirt- rather, Alfred's shirt that he'd let him borrow.

"Calm down!" Alfred said, putting a hand on the Russian's shoulder, "I can get it out…lemme see it…" he held out his hand.

Ivan just gripped the scarf tighter protectively. "No! You'd only make it vorse…it vill be torn up in de wash!" He was almost in tears. He always wore the scarf. Katyusha had give it to him for control of the black sea, and it had saved his life from the cold several years. It hid the scars and it was warm and had sentimental value. He wouldn't stop wearing it just because of some stains, but nobody would believe where they came from. If the stains never came out…

"No! Of course not...it's way too old to machine wash…I'll do it by hand, lemme see…" Alfred offered.

Ivan gave him a suspicious look. The American just went into the cabinet and took out a new towel and wrapped it around the Russian's neck. He gently patted it down around the cut and held his hand out for the scarf.

Ivan looked down at his precious gift. It had kept him sane many nights, reminding him that he had belonged somewhere. He loved this scarf more than he loved vodka. "If you fray even _one_ corner…"

Alfred just gave him a million-dollar smile and took the cloth from his hand. "I won't, swear!"

Ivan paced sharp little lines back and forth, watching over Alfred's shoulder as the American gently rubbed dish soap into the white cloth and dunked it into peroxide. "This _is_ made of cotton, right?" he clarified.

"Da…"

Alfred took a sigh of relief. "Thank God…" he muttered. If it were wool, he'd be leaving water stains all over it. But, when Ivan had dunked it in the water earlier, he sort of figured it couldn't be something dry-clean only.

After he'd gently blotted out the stain, he hung the cloth up. "Pack up your things," he ordered. "We should get moving."

Ivan just stared at his scarf. Alfred had actually _done it_; he had gotten the stain out completely. When did the American learn domestic things like that? It seemed beyond his mental capability…

Alfred was already on his way out of the door, but Ivan wasn't following so he turned around. "What?" The freak was staring at him with adoration. What the fuck?

"Vhere did you learn dis?" the Russian said in awe.

Alfred just shrugged. "It's not the _first_ time I've had to wash blood out of clothes. And three or four of those times were cause of you anyway, so thank yourself for being an asshole for eighty-percent of the last century."

Ivan just smiled and moved across the room. He stopped standing right over the American so Alfred had his face nearly in the Russian's neck. That was one _nasty_ cut, Alfred noted. …It looked bad, even without glasses on…

Something warm and wet smudged across Alfred's cheek and he jumped. Ivan had licked his thumb and rubbed it into his cut. "What the hell?"

"Saliva heals wounds, da?"

"Ah…fuck off," Alfred muttered. He was too tired to care. Ivan ignored him anyway and thoroughly rubbed the scabbed blood off Alfred's cheek.

"I am sorry that I have caused you trouble," he said politely. "I still think it vould be best for me to go to my home and get out of your hair."

Alfred just grabbed his wrist and removed the Russian's hand from his cheek. "When are you gonna get it through your thick skull that I _like_ having you as company!" he said rashly. He immediately wanted to take it back.

Ivan stepped away. They had drawn a line in the sand, and Alfred had just come seriously close to crossing it. The Berlin wall might've fallen decades ago, but there was still an emotional wall that was more like a comfort buffer than anything.

Alfred sighed and leaned against the wall of the washroom. The entire place had a clean smell like detergent and dryer sheets. "Look," the American began, rubbing his temple, "You're not communist anymore. So…I'm not afraid of you, and you're not afraid of me…and… Well, why can't we just let things come naturally for _once_ in our lives?"

Ivan didn't respond. He just stood back and summed Alfred up. It was too easy to fall for the American just by looks. He wasn't particularly _tan_, but he wasn't pale either and his hands were long and well worked. He had dirty blonde hair that turned golden in the sun. His eyes were large and bluer than any sky Ivan had ever seen. And, his face had a tapered jaw, curved nose, and small- thin lips. He wore clothing that was baggy enough to hide his figure, but still proved that he had one. He had a certain warmth about his entire being.

But, Ivan knew that he could lose that warmth so easily. If you made one step against him, Alfred became one of the scariest fuckers you'd ever meet. And, he would take the fight into _your_ land too. He wouldn't fight on his own property and sacrifice his own civilians. And, his geographical location allowed him to do that a lot of times.

Ivan was sure if he should hate the American for being a selfish, self-assured, brat, or if he should love him for getting Stalinism out of his country, aiding anyone if they needed it desperately, and trying to protect the world order.

But, he wouldn't deny that Alfred was attractive.

But…what did that have to do with _anything_?

"Ruski?"

Ivan snapped his gaze back to the American. His eyes had slowly drifted to the floor as he'd thought. Alfred was staring at him expectantly. "Vhat?" Ivan said slowly. He'd forgotten what they were talking about.

"Will you stop being so weird? Like…stop making excuses to leave when we both know that things are going fine in Russia. You used ta love visiting in the summer. Are things different now, or do you really just hate being in my presence _that_ much?"

Ivan's expression darkened. "You actually doubt someone's opinion of you?" he queried. "I always assumed you thought_ everyone_ loved you."

Alfred's face flushed. He kept slipping up today. He was letting his mask fall and the Russian kept picking up on it. "Well…they-…that is…" Well, there was no point in it anymore. "Ah, who'm I kiddin? Everyone hates me." His entire posture seemed to shrink a few inches.

What was this? Ivan stepped closer. There had been a time when he would've _loved_ seeing Alfred melt like putty in a microwave, but that time had passed, and now it was just sad.

Alfred felt his eyes starting to prick on the sides and grow wet. No…he was _not_ going to cry. It was this stupid time of night when the lack of sleep starts making you emotional. And it probably didn't help that the American had experienced so many spikes of paranoia tonight.

He was just sick of the world. It always worked this way. When a country became stronger- came out on the top of the stack, all the other peoples began hating them, taunting, and stereotyping them. Alfred would be hated as long as he remained a superpower.

And some of it was deserved. He'd gotten into other people's affairs before; places where his opinion shouldn't matter. But, he always did it to help. He _was_ the superpower, so he was supposed to take care of the others. He'd been told that by _every_ boss he'd had since 45, starting with Truman.

Ivan stared at the American. He was almost in tears? No…no, no, no…those were the one thing he couldn't stand on Alfred. America was supposed to be the land of _his_ dreams…sunflower fields and warm air as far as one could walk. Alfred was supposed to always be cheerful and happy, living in Ivan's paradise.

And Ivan could be happy for him…because it was Alfred. There was no jealousy when it was Alfred because he would share his happiness, radiating and warming everyone around him. Tears didn't suit him. The owner of his perfect reality shouldn't _get_ to cry…

He didn't deserve to cry.

But, it didn't make the Russian mad. In fact…he felt _bad_. If Alfred had ever felt hated, it would be because of him.

Ivan had spent fifty years pushing the American off and reminding him daily just how much he hated him. He'd been the one to make the American cry before. And he'd been _proud_ of it.

But, words had to have meaning eventually. And, Alfred was so good at hiding the things that were bothering him. Unfortunately, this lead to an overly-dramatic display when he finally snapped.

And Ivan felt terrible. All those years of fighting and the end result had only really benefitted _him_. Of course, Alfred didn't have to be paranoid anymore and he'd prevented communist expansion, but at the end…it just felt like America had been doing it for _him_ all along. Because...things got so much better afterwards.

Ivan leaned over and ran his hands into the American's scalp, inspecting his hair.

Alfred stepped back, smudging at his eyes. "What the fuck," he choked.

"I vas checking for gray hair," the Russian said innocently.

Alfred just shut his eyes tight. "I'm only twenty-three."

Ivan just laughed. "Yes…if you put a five at the end of dat." Alfred just ignored him, so he went on. "You should really have somezing to drink every once and avhile. Let off some steam, da?"

…

On the plane- 12 bottles of Jack Daniels later

…

"Vi viglyadita udivitelьnый," the Russian slurred. He doubted his English in this condition. So, he tried to convey his point by snuggling into the American's neck. Fortunately, Alfred seemed too wasted to notice, much less _care_. And there was that scent again, stronger than ever; a soft masculine mix of fast food, heated blacktop, molten metal, and the autumn harvest.

The two were sitting in the back loft of Air Force One. Alfred was dozing, lounged in a bulky leather couch. His brain was blurring images together and twisting them around in his head like it was a weird dream.

"My economy's a piece-a shit~!" Alfred sang lazily. "And the other countries? They…all haate me…" he mumbled. "Like…everyone…I can maka lisht."

The Russian just grunted.

"Well…for starters…uhm…Iraq. He really hates me right now… Libia, Egypt, Cambodia, Cuba, México, China, Russia-"

"Nyet…" Ivan cut him off. "Я nikooogda…"

The American giggled a bit at the babbling noises the other was making. He shoved his hand into the Russian's face, successfully shoving him out of his neck. "I've gott no fuckin clueh what yer sayin…"

Ivan just licked Alfred's hand, nibbling at a finger. "Soleeenый…" he muttered distastefully.

The American just laughed and pulled his hand away, making a sour face. "We should dance!" he said, giggling.

"Kakoй?" the Russian asked, bewildered. "Nyet!"

Alfred pouted. He felt the need to get up and _move_, but he was also extremely dizzy. He wanted to dance with the Russian…well, any form of contact would be fine. The neck nuzzling had been good… But, Ivan seemed to be a grumpy drunk. Alfred doubted it would happen again.

The Russian only laid back down on the couch with his head propped in the slight curve of Alfred's waist. The American placed his elbow across Ivan's chest to sit more comfortably. "Я hotetь эtot snova," Ivan admitted. It was a good thing the American couldn't understand him.

…Oh the things alcohol spews from people's mouths.

* * *

><p>Translations<p>

Chyort voz'mi!- Damn it! or Oh Shit!

Vi viglyadita udivitelьnый- You look amazing - (or something similar I hope)

Я nikogda- I never

Solenый- Salty

Kakoй- what?

Я hotetь эtot snova- I want this again

Well, that was a lot of Russian that I'm sure I screwed up.

* * *

><p><em>Seriously…how is it that an average of 500 people read this every night, but I only get six reviews…is it <em>_**that**__ terrible?_

_I should stop complaining and being such a little brat. At least i'm getting reviews at all, and the ones i get are awesome. You guys are amazing one way or another. And besides! I broke 100! _

_On a more optimistic, less whiney note- This chapter was so fucking fluffy that I thought it would split at the seams. _

Feed my inbox?


	17. Maple!

_According to the guidelines of the site, I'm not supposed to include 'real' people in my stories. So. Obama isn't supposed to be in here. But, I doubt he'd be very offended by how he was included. So. Just. Please don't report me._

_I spent most of today learning how to play 'The Devil Went Down to Georgia' on my violin. So, that'll probably show up in this story eventually. You get a freaky adrenaline rush by playing it…seriously. It's…just awesome, your fingers feel like they're gonna catch fire. _

_Yea…I can actually do stuff besides writing this and doodling. (Shocking! .)_

* * *

><p>Songs-<p>

'It's been a long time' by Cake

'That Year' by Brandie Carlile- (this song's got some _deep_ meaning that doesn't really fit the story…like seriously)

'Oh Dear' by Brandie Carlile (Brandie overload!)

'The Oh Song' by Wakey!Wakey! - yeah, I like them.

* * *

><p>"I'll tell ya what tho…" Alfred slurred. "You're like a superhero or somethin. Cause, I ain't afraid of nuthin right now."<p>

Ivan just smirked, wrapping an arm over the American's lap. "Da, pьяnый." Of course he wasn't scared right now. But, having Belarus crash through the window and try to take you away to her rape-cave, seemed a lot scarier than it really being 'Bloody Mary'. Ivan would officially allow Alfred to call himself a 'hero' from now on.

Alfred kicked his feet onto the coffee table, knocking over some magazines and paperwork. He was getting hungry. "I'll tell'ya…" the American was starting again. "You were an _asshole_ back in the day. You're cool now though." He petted the Russian's hair. "I bet people like _you_. They _haatteee_ me, though cause they don't want any help. I dun geddit. I'm just helpin them. Ain't that my job?"

Ivan just grunted his reply. He was getting sleepy for three reasons. First, the alcohol had his brain going fuzzy. Second, his head was propped comfortably on the American's side. And third, the warm, calloused hands that were playing in his hair were comforting.

The plane was touching down. Alfred could just barely feel the turbulence. Ivan was out cold already. The congress people were getting out to their respective location. Alfred hardly cared where they were right now or what the senators were doing; he just knew there were a few hours until the plane would take them up to their destination since they were stopping everywhere else. Since when did they hold meetings like this on Air Force One?

Someone came in to check on them after they'd landed. "Hey, Al?" a small voice said quietly. He looked up to see the two nations passed out on the couch and the floor littered with papers and bottles of Jack Daniels. "Goddamnit…you hoser. I'm not letting you into my country when you're drunk off your ass…"

The mystery nation walked across the room and shook the American. Nope. He was out cold. The quiet country just frowned. "Alright, you can just stay on _your_ side until you sober up."

He looked at the two on the couch. Why was Russia here? Al had said _nothing_ about him. Well…he hadn't said anything about visiting either, and he was here anyway.

He just returned from the cabin into the hall. His boss was waiting patiently on the other side of the door.

"Just have him stay on his side until tomorrow. He called reservations at the Embassy Hotel where I work this morning. But…there's no way he'll get across the border like that," the northern country said blandly.

The Prime Minister just nodded and went off to get someone to carry them off the plane. The blonde just sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You idiots…" he muttered affectionately.

…

"Ugh...fuck…"

"Vould you like coffee? I've heard it helps."

Alfred sat up, rubbing his head. Hangovers and Jetlag combined into one was like riding through the small intestines of a giant goat that was on fire…and there were bricks attacked to your head by nails. Yeah. That exact image.

The American just held his hand out for the cardboard Starbucks cup. "Where are we?" he wondered, trying to catch his bearings. There were people everywhere and what looked like a wall made entirely out of colorful jelly beans… "Rainbow Sweets…" he read aloud from the sign over the candy store.

Ivan took a seat on the bench next to the American and handed him the coffee. "Ve're in the velcome center- or theater…I think they show movies in here or somezing."

Alfred turned. He took a sip of his coffee and let his head fall back into the blue-painted wall. "Ugh…what the hell's up with you?" he said bitterly. "Do you just…not get hangovers or whatever?"

The Russian just laughed. "I've conditioned myself, I guess you could say. Drink to keep warm, as you would drink to have fun."

"Ugh…figures," Alfred muttered. "But, that was two-hundred years ago wasn't it? Before heating systems…"

Ivan just nodded. "Or vhen the pipes freeze and there is no water."

Alfred just laughed. Too many stereotypes. "D'you think they've got aspirin in the gift shop?" he wondered quietly. He didn't like all the noise these tourists were making, so he tried not to add to it. His head was pounding with a migraine. He wanted to yell at them all to shut up.

Ivan got to his feet. "I highly doubt it, but I vill check if you'd like?"

The American smiled. "Thanks…"

He watched the Russian get up and move to the other side of the center, through the crowd of people and into the gift shop. He seemed too tall surrounded by all the racks of sweatshirts, key-chains, and mugs reading 'Niagara Falls, New York' with little American and Canadian flags all over them.

He was wearing his scarf again and a pair of jeans. Alfred smiled with a fond memory of the first time he'd introduced Ivan to Levi's. The Russian hated to admit that he'd liked them. It was just like Coca-Cola. The man was stubborn, but his smile would become warmer and it was easy to tell he was truly happy.

Alfred let his head rest against the wall while he watched the Russian looking through the trinkets. He walked over to the checkout desk to ask for aspirin.

Alfred smiled when the Russian glanced back at him. He wasn't going to find any painkiller, but it was sweet that he was trying.

It was nice to feel like they could start over. If he could go back, Alfred would change _everything_ from 1905 on. He would've killed Hitler and Stalin; he would've made amends with Arthur _much_ earlier instead of trying to use him. He would've intervened in Ivan's revolution and tried to help bring democracy. But…he wasn't sure if he could've even _done_ any of that.

That was the problem with being the hero. You can't predict it. You can't handle everything. You can't save anything permanently. You can't even protect _yourself_.

There were a lot of things that could've been done differently; they could've been handled better. Alfred knew that, somehow, he could've salvaged them. He'd spent the last century blaming Ivan for ruining their friendship- for throwing everything away and trying to cut them all off.

But…Alfred was starting to realize now. He didn't have much of a say. Ivan was _Russia_, he wasn't Stalin. He'd never liked being communist and he'd only suffered because of it. He was just lonely. They all were.

Alfred was just trying to prove himself. He felt like the whole world was constantly watching him because of his new status as superpower. He was only "sixteen" -(169) at the Yalta Conference- at least, he called himself that because it made it easier to remember how many years had passed. The other's were way to old for how young they looked.

After Yalta, there were forty-six years of lonely valentine's days, twenty years of awkward Christmas' at Arthur's house- arguing about Vietnam, and after all was said and done- twenty years of tense meetings.

Things had never been the same. Alfred was more alone than ever. He still had some friends like Arthur and Kiku, but now…he was the only superpower. He was more powerful than most of the countries that were hundreds of years older than him. And, it made things tense and…_weird_.

Their stares became more critical than ever.

Ivan was heading back now. Empty-handed of course. Or…maybe-

Alfred watched him walk. He sort of wished that Ivan could have been a superpower too. At least it wouldn't be so lonely. The American tilted back his cup of coffee. No creamer. He smiled. Ivan remembered how he took it.

Why the hell was Alfred even thinking about this stuff? It must've been the after-effect of that alcohol. He hadn't even considered Ivan for the last twenty years. But, looking back on it…

He should've just taken time to set his government back up instead of letting Stalin take control…it was like suicide. And, the man _hated_ America… That had sort of stung a little. Ivan would completely turn his back on his old ally just for some stability…

But…after fighting for fifty years, Alfred was happy to forgive it. Countries were more changeable than humans. They forgave easier; they just tended to forget slower…

The Russian returned, smiling pleasantly. "The woman at de register had some Tylenol in her bag. I asked for some and she let me have it!"

Alfred laughed. "Yeah right, more like you smiled in your creepy little way and she shit her pants and handed it over."

Ivan just sighed and took his seat again. "Always the tone of distrust vith you."

Alfred grinned and held out his hand for a pill. "And that's not changin' for awhile," he drawled, looking up into light violet eyes.

Ivan uncapped the canister and poured two into the American's hand. "Understandable," he said, nodding. "Vhen you feel better…we should go walk around the park. I don't think I have ever been to dis park."

Alfred grinned. "Oh, you'll love it! Iggy comes over here all the time with his royal families to take pictures at the falls. We should do the Cave of the Winds tour."

Ivan frowned a little hearing about the Brit. He didn't understand how he and Alfred were such good friends…they bickered so much…

But, it's not like his relations to the American were any better, most likely much worse.

They walked out, Alfred chatting away happily about people who had braved the falls and survived. He was talking about some kid who fell down the drop only wearing a lifejacket and had lived to be picked up by a Maid of the Mist boat.

"Wait…why're we on _my_ side…?" Alfred wondered finally. "I thought we were being dropped off on the northern half that…I don't own…who owns it? …dang…I forgot"

"There vas a man who vas sitting vith us before you voke. He said that we vere not granted passage to the other country until we vere sober."

Alfred sighed. He still felt a bit dizzy and nauseous, so maybe it would be fine to just chill on this side for awhile. Plus, there was some cool stuff to do over here, and he wanted to show Ivan the Cave of the Winds tour.

They walked down the cement path through the foliage of the state park. There were a few visitors, riding bikes and jogging. "First stop! The Observation deck!" Alfred said happily, pounding a fist into the air.

He led his friend to the gate. The guard almost asked for tickets, but he recognized Alfred when he looked up. He just grinned and let the American pass.

Ivan just smiled, watching Alfred jump from side to side of the observation deck, trying to look at everything all at once. "Oh oohh! Look, look! That's the Rainbow Bridge! Oh, and that little spot right there, ya' see?" he pointed to the falls. "Ya see the spot that's separated right there? By that huge rock?"

"Da," Ivan said patiently.

"That's the bridal falls. And, right next to it there's the American falls! And the Horseshoe Falls are the ones over there that curve around in a big 'U'! We can stand on the deck on that huge rock. It's so cool, there're falls on both sides of you! The ground looks _miles_ away"

Ivan just smiled. The American was so refreshingly energetic. He'd forgotten how light his mood felt around Alfred. "It is very beautiful," he admitted. He turned to his ally. "Even more so in person."

Alfred grinned, pushing his glasses up on his nose. It was sunny outside, but the water kept the air nice and cool. It wasn't as stifling as it was back in Wyoming. "Wait…this is just the view from _this_ deck. We can get closer…"

The American grabbed Ivan's hand and pulled him to the elevators. The doors opened and the two stepped in. The operator just narrated about the history of the observation deck. The doors opened again several-hundred feet down, on the ground.

Alfred took the Russian's hand again and pulled him on the path. Ivan tried to slow down to watch the water and the tour ferry that left from the shore. The boat was packed with people in blue rain ponchos. They waved to the shore excitedly.

Alfred elbowed Ivan in the side. Ivan turned, about to tell him off, but the American was waving happily at the passengers of the boat, so Ivan figured he should wave too.

They walked up a long flight of concrete stairs, passing tourists in the blue ponchos. The pathway led into the steam coming off the falls. The sound was earth-shaking.

After returning to the park level, they crossed a bridge to the 'Three Sister's Island' so Ivan could stand on the ledge to the Bridal Falls. While there, Alfred saw some Buddhist tourists wearing their long red and gold robes with their heads shaved. He did a little spasm-dance and shoved a camera into Ivan's hands to take a picture with them.

They walked to the third overlook that hung over the Horseshoe Falls. Alfred sat on the retaining wall on the edge of the path and hugged his knees. "I'm sore now…" he admitted. "We've been walking all day…"

Ivan just laughed. "It vould probably help if you had gotten sleep that did not require liquor."

The American just nodded. "You still got that Tylenol?"

They bought tickets to the Cave of the Winds finally. Alfred just prattled endlessly while he tucked his shoes into a trash bag and put on the sandals they gave you when you bought tickets.

Ivan pulled the poncho over his head. "I take it dat ve are going to get wet?"

Alfred just grinned, "I don't know 'bout you, but I know _I_ will."

"It is optional then," Ivan completed calmly.

So, they followed the path. Alfred flipped off the camera man. He insisted that there was one at _every_ attraction; they were just trying to make a buck for the park by selling photographs to gullible tourists. He just didn't want his picture taken- yet.

They took the next elevator down to another cement path that lead to the maze of wooden decks and bridges where the best 'photo opportunities' were. Alfred was taking pictures every three or four feet. He told Ivan to 'go ahead without me, I'll be a minute'.

They climbed staircase after staircase until the mist in their faces became like a tornado, trying to blow them off the decks.

Ivan didn't like the warm wind. He had bad balance on a wet, slippery surface. It was so much easier to walk in snow or on ice. Alfred seemed to be handling it just fine. He was running up the last staircase.

"Hurricane deck~!" he sang happily, running to the very edge of the space, directly under the Bridal Falls, and holding his arms out so the wind pressed his poncho flat against his skin. His hood flew back and water poured over his head. He was just grinning. "Take a picture, Ruski!" he shouted over the wind.

Little children were trying to plow into the wind to get to where Alfred was standing. The Russian quickly snapped a photo. "Can we go?" Ivan pleaded.

…

Later, Alfred was drying his wallet out by putting it over his head as they walked. It didn't do much, though since his hair was wet. They were both thoroughly soaked. Ivan was trying to wring out his scarf as they followed the gravel path to the bridge.

Alfred flipped through the photos on his camera. Nantucket managed to stand up proudly despite being so wet. The American had take his glasses off, complaining that they were all foggy. "Ah…damnit…I got photo-bombed," he said moodily.

"Vhat?"

"At the Hurricane deck. When you took that picture of me doing the 'thumbs up'…" he pointed to the photo. "That guy photo-bombed me. I'd thought you already had the picture…"

Ivan looked at the small image on the screen. A large man had run into Alfred's picture with his hands up in the air. You could still see the American behind him, but he just looked startled instead of happy.

"It is fine," Ivan said calmly. Alfred seemed pissed off, and he didn't want to provoke him. "You have plenty of pictures, da?"

Alfred just muttered to himself angrily. "Let's just get to the hotel," he ground out. He peeled his wallet off his head. "Damnit! Still wet!"

"At least you are so broke dat you did not have any paper money on you," Ivan pointed out, smiling.

"Are you _trying_ to be an asshole?" Alfred muttered, grinning back blithely.

So, they walked in silence across the bridge. Their country identifications worked the same as passports to cross into the other country. What the hell was it called again? Alfred tried to read the tags on the border patrol officer's shirt, but the man distracted him with candy. Why were people so nice in the country above his?

Their hotel was six blocks away and they had no car. Alfred was getting grumpy- probably due to the exercise and the lack of food. So, Ivan bought some ice cream, took one lick, and pretended to be disgusted so that Alfred would think he was doing a favor by taking it.

The American cheered up quite a bit after that, and Ivan didn't have to hear his bitching. The Russian smirked at how easy it was.

"Why're there maple leaves like…fucking _everywhere_?" Alfred wondered, looking at the pavement and licking at his ice cream. "Like…even imprinted in the sidewalk? The fuck?"

"I think it's the national symbol of this place?" Ivan said, really contemplating the American's question. He had been wondering the same thing. Where were they anyway? He knew where the hotel was, but this place was so…odd… He looked up. Even the 'o' in 'Ihop' had a maple leaf to fill it out.

"It's on their flag…" Alfred pointed out, motioning with his ice cream to a bank that was flying a flag.

"Da, you are right. It is _definitely_ their symbol then."

"Who uses a _maple leaf_ as their national symbol? Eagles are like…five times as badass." Alfred licked his ice cream.

Ivan just smirked. "A bear vould win in a fight, da?"

"Like hell! The eagle can fly! He'd like…peck its eyes out then claw it up into cat food!" The American replied brightly. He fisted the air in victory. "Fuck _yeah_!"

"Nyet, dat is nonsense," Ivan reasoned. "The Kamchatka vould hear it coming, da?"

"The 'Camsha-'? Psh, no! Eagles are the ninjas of the sky. They're like invisible. That's why you never see them. It would totally win."

"And the maple tree would sit back and watch them kill each other…" a quiet voice said behind them. Alfred jumped and gripped for Ivan's hand. "And it would laugh," the ghost concluded.

"Who…w-who's there?" Alfred said tentatively. He waved his arm where the voice was coming from and his hand met something, mid-air. But nothing was there!

Wait…slowly…very slowly.

"MATTIE!" the American cried, leaning forward and hugging his brother tightly. "Dude, don't freak me out like that, bro!"

Ivan just stood there and contemplated. Alfred had a brother?

"You bloody git!"

Well, then there was _that_ 'brother'. Ivan cringed at the very _sound_ of his voice. Oh how he _hated_ that voice. The fucking Brit and the American and their 'Special Relationship'- Bullshit.

Alfred had already turned. "Iggy~!" he said happily, pulling the shorter Brit into the hug as well. "What're you doing here?"

"Japan said that you were with…_that_," the Brit said, looking over Ivan with an air of disgust. "Ready to let me drill some of that oil you're hoarding?" he demanded.

Ivan just smiled 'plesantly' (with a thirst for blood) and said, "Nyet. Is NATO is disbanded yet?" Seriously? Had this guy come _just_ to piss him off?

Alfred looked back and forth between his two friends, waiting to see who'd throw the first punch. Matthew just stole what was left of his ice cream while he was distracted. He liked ice cream…

* * *

><p>Translation-<p>

Da, pьяnый- yes, drunk

* * *

><p><em>Wow. So, that' brought on some déjà-vu. Our family went to Niagara falls a few weeks ago. That's the trip where this whole story started. I had my laptop and started writing in our hotel room. It's nice to finally include it in the story.<em>

_And yay! Canada and Iggy! Canadians are like the __**nicest**__ people __**ever**__…I don't get how they can be such pure souls…I would snap and have to kill a puppy or something…_

_I promise there will be a LOT of angst next chapter. Because i'm a sunny person inside._

_Please review! Otherwise, i may start feeling unloved...because apparently i'm an attention whore. aHAHA (Yeah, thanx bro, ur cool) _

_ugh...don't pay attention to any of ^that. My brother's just an asshole._


	18. Ill again

_Okay! So, more history this chapter…and a bit of insanity. _

_I should really be more introverted at this age. No high-schooler should watch the news for fun…_

**_warnings- language. But...by now, you're totally used to that_**

**_-and some touchy-feely timez~_**

* * *

><p>Songs-<p>

'War Sweater' by Wakey!Wakey! –again.

'Hang Me Up to Dry' by Cold War Kids

'Rain' Piano version by SID

'Do You Recall' by Royal Wood

* * *

><p><em>November, 1854<em>

_A Russian soldier was lying in the snow, face down, bleeding profusely from gunshot wounds. He could tell that there were several, but he doubted he could pinpoint where they were on his body. The snow was making it too numb to tell. His black uniform was soaked with ice and blood. _

_The sound of battle still echoed over the rooftops of the deserted town on the side of the only road between Balaklava and Sevastopol._

_The soldier watched the grey smoke clouds lighting up orange with explosions. He was jerked up suddenly and flipped onto his back. "Chto za huy?"_

_He just earned a grin from the American medic. "That's got 'fuck' in it somewhere, don't it?" he said, straddling the injured Russian._

_"A-…Amerika?"_

_Alfred just grinned and undid the belt and holsters on the Russian's uniform before unbuttoning the shirt. "Not exactly the __**warmest**__ place to do this, but got no choice right now. They're still fighting just up the hill." _

_"Damn Brits…since vhen does England side vith __**France**__?" Ivan choked. _

_Alfred patted his cheek roughly and glided a hand down Ivan's side. "I know," he said gently, understanding. "Trust me, I know." His fingers lightly felt for the gunshot wounds. The blood was covering all visibility. "Usually," he continued conversationally, trying to distract the Russian from whatever pain he might be causing, "if you need help fighting off England, you can call France. But…they're working together? You're kinda screwed." _

_"b'lyad, tam!" Ivan yelped as the American's hand found the wound and pushed too hard on the tender flesh. _

_Alfred just grinned. He reached in the pouch that was strapped across his shoulder and took out some gloves and a pair of pliers. "This is gonna hurt, vanya. Sit still." _

_"Ch-" Ivan grit his teeth and pushed his head deeper into the snow while Alfred carefully leaned over his stomach and held the wound open. _

_It was bleeding a lot, so it was hard to see what he was doing, but his new glasses helped a bit and he managed to get the musket out. "Kay," he said, sitting up on his knees, back against Ivan's waist. The Russian winced at the pressure in such an uncomfortable area… _

_Alfred rummaged in his first aid kit and took out some bulky wrappings. He leaned over and slid an arm under the Russian's back and lifted up gently to tie the gauze across his waist to secure it. He sat up, "That's one down. Any others?" he said rhetorically. _

_Ivan's breath was getting shallow, so Alfred rolled him over and checked his ribs for bullet-holes. They could be interfering with his lung-function. If that was the case, he'd have to sew it up or the Russian would have to live forever with a hole in his lungs._

_But, the only other bullets were the two in his leg and one in the shoulder. Alfred cleaned them, got the bullets out, and wrapped them, but Ivan's breathing still stayed short. "Are you alright?" the American said, concerned. _

_Ivan just looked down at where Alfred was sitting. He was making things more and more uncomfortable by not even noticing. "Don't…don't you have other wounded soldiers you can care for?" he demanded impatiently. _

_Alfred sighed and slid his backpack off, taking out a clean, dry coat. "I've brought other medics to do that. It was just __**my**__ job to find __**you**__." He carefully slid the Russian's arms into the sleeves and sat him up to put the coat on completely. "We should find somewhere dry…" he suggested, putting an arm under the Russian's knees and his arm. _

_"Vhat are you doing?" Ivan demanded._

_"I'm carryin' you," Alfred said simply. The Russian just laughed. Alfred quirked an eyebrow, "You think I __**can't**__?" _

_He lifted the taller man bridal-style, just to make a point. But, Ivan started struggling, so he had to put him down before he hurt himself further. "I never asked for aid. Vhy are you here?" Ivan wondered grumpily. _

_The American just hiked his arm up onto his shoulder and helped him stand. "Why wouldn't I be?"_

_The Russian just shook his head. There was something much different about this one. All these new countries were always the same. They tried to build up their own power and prestige as quickly as possible to prove themselves. America was just…odd._

_"You…still hate England then?" Ivan wondered. _

_They had found an abandoned shed that one of the town's people had left when they all fled. Alfred helped get the Russian comfortable. _

_"It's complicated," he finally answered cryptically. "We're trading again, but…it's just…complicated." He brushed himself off and wiped his hair back. "Do you think we can start a fire in here? It's freezing…"_

_"It is probably not safe yet," Ivan replied calmly. _

_"Yeah, I guess not. The French came to back up England… The fighting probably won't last much longer," the American said bluntly. _

_Ivan just took a deep breath. "Da, I am losing. There is no need to remind me."_

_Alfred just smirked softly, "It might've helped if you kept control of your army."_

_The Russian sent him a tired glare. He would allow little petty insults because they were on good terms. Still, it was a little depressing to be losing, and having one of your only friends rubbing it in your face. _

_He silently prayed, hoping General Winter came through, wiped out the Allied army, and killed that bothersome limey and his rapist friend._

_Alfred glanced over. Why did Ivan look so sad? He scooted closer on the dirt floor. "Hey…" he said gently. "I didn't mean it like- …It's not like Arthur was doing any better… And…everyone's stacked against you. I mean, it's France, England, Turkey, Austria, Piedmont, and Sardinia; **everyone's** against you…"_

_"Are you as vell?" Ivan said sarcastically._

_Alfred straightened. "If I was, you'd've already lost!" he said proudly. _

_Ivan just rolled his eyes, smiling. "I have to question that, but…it probably vould be best for us to never go to war."_

_Alfred patted his head. "Always so political!" he said brightly. _

…

_But, politics and pleasantries couldn't prevent the Cold War. And warm affections turned to paranoid hatred. _

_Ivan could remember a time, long ago, when England and Russia had been affable allies. The Soviet Union had worked with the UK during both World Wars, but that never meant much. None of the alliances during those wars meant anything. He and Alfred had proven that easily by starting their Cold War directly after the Pacific war ended._

_And, America ruined whatever amity the Soviet Union and England might have had. At least, that's what Ivan would think. But, England hated communism almost as much as America __**believed**__ he did, and he would've sided with Alfred either way. _

_And Alfred had taken full advantage of having allies. He rubbed it in Ivan's face along with his wealth. _

England still didn't trust Ivan even after the Soviet Union collapsed. Russia had massive reserves of energy sources that he hadn't tapped.

And, then there was the Litvinenko case where one of his FSB officers was poisoned in England. The man who did it was staying in Russia to avoid trial in London. Ivan wouldn't extradite him until England gave over the Russian terrorist that was hiding in London to avoid coming to trial in Moscow.

So, they were at a stalemate, and somehow, the four managed to make it a block without anyone trying to kill anyone, mostly thanks to Alfred's constant complaining. He distracted them easily with his stomach's growling.

"Mattie?" he whined as they walked. His brother didn't respond, so he poked his cheek repeatedly. "Matttieee~ I _really_ don't feel good…" he moaned. "Wait…how'd you get my ice cream?"

"You didn't want it. So, you gave it to me, remember?" the Canuck said calmly.

"Hm…I don't remember that," the American said, actually thinking about it for awhile. He turned to the Brit and the Russian who were bickering about oil and the wiki-leaks incident. "Hey Artie? I feel sick… Like…seriously, I think my stomach is eating itself," he said, getting between them easily.

Arthur was about to scold him for being a fat, self-centered, child, but it seemed that Ivan beat him to it.

"How can you alvays be so hungry?" he demanded. "Do you gorge yourself so often that your stomach has grown to the size of four?"

Alfred's face flushed with anger and he threw a heavy punch to the Russian's shoulder.

Arthur just shrugged. If it meant disagreeing with Ivan, than he could go for something to eat. "There's an Applebee's up ahead," he noted.

So…_somehow_, four of the world's most powerful countries ended up sitting in a booth at an Applebee's in Canada. Well…three of them were sitting…one was being sat _on_. But, it didn't seem unusual at all.

Alfred was studying the menu, but the smell of food wasn't helping ease his stomach like it usually did. It still felt like something was clenching around his gut and slowly increasing the pressure. Something was off; it didn't feel like normal hunger pains. But, food couldn't hurt.

So the American ordered a burger, England got a salad, Ivan ordered some soup, and the waitress didn't notice Matthew- Arthur, being a gentleman, offered to share his food with the stranger.

"Well, if you'd let me out of the booth, I'd like to go clean up before our food arrives," the Brit said politely, gently pushing Alfred to let him out.

The American slid out to give him room, but Arthur didn't leave right away.

"You should come too," he insisted. "Wash up…that is."

Alfred just laughed, "My hands aren't dirty or anything…"

The Brit just grabbed his wrist and pulled him behind him, across the restaurant, and into the men's room.

"What _is_ this Iggy?" Alfred said curiously as England shut the door behind them.

"I wanted to talk to you without that damn Russian listening…"

"Why? What's wrong with Ivan?"

Arthur turned on the American, eyes dark and serious. "I haven't spoken to you since that meeting. You _disappeared_ before I could confront you about this."

"What?"

Arthur stepped forward menacingly. "_You_ sold me out. Remember that?"

Alfred gulped, stepping back. The little Brit could be intimidating without even meaning to. "Is this about the-?"

"The serial numbers that you're giving him," Arthur clarified. "You're telling him all about _all_ of the nuclear missiles you're selling me. I thought that _some_ secrets could be honored with you, but apparently you're too much of a dog that will roll over for a chicken bone."

"What the hell does that even mean?" Alfred muttered. "No…look, I was just trying to get him to agree to that 'New START Treaty' that we've got going."

"By selling me out?" the Brit said lividly.

"Hey!" Alfred said, voice rising defensively. "_I_ show him _my_ arsenal _regularly_. We're trying to use knowledge as protection. You'd think it would be a step _forward_ if we could just stop with all these secrets!"

Arthur just laughed, "Really, Alfred? _You're_ going to scold _me_ about secrets? You're the _king_ of secrets and not keeping them! Take Wiki-leaks for example!"

"Hey, hey! Don't put that on me…my _government_ was keeping secrets." Alfred was trying to figure out how to stand right now. "Even _I_ didn't know half of the stuff that site put out," he admitted. "Believe me, I was just as pissed as everyone else..."

He didn't want to fidget because Iggy tended to pick up on body language. He had the complex sort of brain that pulled things apart in a way that made no sense to Alfred.

"It doesn't change the fact that you sold me out to try and make friends with Russia," Arthur spat, folding his arms over his chest indignantly.

"I wasn't trying to sell you out, Iggy-!"

"Don't call me that."

"Alright, fine…Arthur," the American corrected. "I didn't mean to sell you out. I'm just trying to eliminate some of the threat that I started more than half a century ago. If everyone knows they're being monitored…they're less likely to start nuclear militarization," he reasoned. "Wasn't that the problem with the first World War? You guys all started going crazy, building up your armies? It's the same thing with nukes…"

"Oh…I get it. You just didn't trust me?" Arthur clarified. "So, you sent Russia to watch over me."

Alfred ran a hand over his face, tugging at the skin in frustration. "You're pulling apart my words _again_ and making them something they're _not_!"

Arthur stepped forward and jabbed a finger into the American's chest as if it were a small knife he could impale him with. "No, listen to me," he scolded. "You've been this way for the past _twenty_ years. Just because you get to be the power leader for once, does _not_ make you the world's watchdog. You can't regulate everyone like they're just pieces in some little _game_! Trust me, I would know."

Alfred just closed his eyes to calm himself before he got upset over this. Arthur _did_ have experience being the strongest superpower, but he had lost that title, so it sort of made some of his points invalid.

"Why are you here, Iggy?" Alfred muttered. He opened his eyes and met Arthur's fierce green daggers. "Like…really, why?" he said seriously.

Arthur backed down just a notch. "What's going on with you and Ivan?" he countered.

"We're friends," Alfred said simply. "Why?"

"Because…" Arthur began, weighing his next few words. Alfred's childlike expressions made it difficult to put this into words. "I…I _forbid_ you from 'seeing' him."

The American just raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about? After the Cold War…don't you think it's a _good_ thing that we're trying to be friends again? Why do you hate him so much?"

Arthur could've beaten his head into the bathroom wall- though the unsanitary conditions of a bathroom forbid such behavior. Could Alfred be _any_ more clueless?

"Alfred," he began carefully, impatience starting to worm into his voice. "Our countries do not _hate_ each other," he clarified. "We have been working _very_ hard to improve our relations through peace talks and negotiations. But…I don't like how close you two are getting again."

"What'd'you mean?"

"From the way that Japan described it… Well, it would lead one to believe that… Goddamnit…" the Brit couldn't figure out how to word this. "Oh, don't look at me all doe-eyed like you've got no clue what I'm talking about!" he said, frustrated.

Alfred just laughed, poking his cheek, "You're going all red in the face…what's up?"

Arthur clenched his fists. "Don't start fucking Russia again!"

"M-maple!"

"WHAT?"

"Ugh…you bloody idiot…"

Canada emerged from a bathroom stall, shaking slightly. Why did he always have to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? "What the _hell_…?" he muttered, looking back and forth between his brother and their previous caretaker. These people were going to mentally scar him _forever_.

"Yeah…what the _hell_?" Alfred demanded.

Arthur just bit his lip and curled his hands. He sighed, "I know that the two of you were once very close…but…that was a _long_ time ago, Alfred. I don't like seeing him with you like this. You two are only going to hurt each other again."

Alfred was starting to go into the state of shock where he ignored _everything_ that Arthur said. "Well, I think Ruski's gonna get worried and come in here any moment, so we should go back now?"

Arthur could recognize a lost cause, so he just nodded.

…

The Embassy hotel was a high-class place. Alfred always prided himself in being the type of person who could fit in anywhere. He could chug down beers with a bunch of rednecks, play the fiddle, sing show-tunes, or he could count cards, crash weddings, and carry a briefcase. He was a huge hosh-posh of culture anyway.

So, he made it look totally natural to walk into a five-star hotel that overlooked Niagara fall, wearing a pair of baggy shorts and a wrinkly 'McLovin' tee shirt.

He stepped up to the front desk, walking with a purpose. Ivan just followed silently. "I'm checking in…" he announced to the woman at the front desk. She was wearing a business suit and her hair was pulled back professionally. She just pursed her lips and asked for a name. "Jones. Our luggage was already picked up, yes?"

She typed something into her computer and her face flushed. She handed up a key with no paperwork involved.

…

-On the thirty-seventh floor-

Alfred plopped onto the first couch he found in the suite. Ivan just made his way across the room to find his luggage. He checked the bag to make sure his coat and pants were still present. They were the only things he was traveling with.

The Russian, fully satisfied with their service, walked back to get the American moving. He tugged his arm up.

"Ugh…bastard, leave me~" Alfred complained. "My feet hurt…I feel sick…" he groaned.

Ivan just smiled sadistically at the pitiful little moans. "You ate too much?"

The American just groaned, "I didn't even finish _one_ burger…_Mattie_ ate more than I did…" he muttered grimly. Something was _definitely_ wrong with him.

Ivan just pulled him up to a sitting position. "Dat _is_ strange," he agreed. "You should go lay down properly."

The American nodded and allowed himself to be pulled up, led into the bedroom, and lied down. "Open the window?" he asked.

Ivan pulled the curtain back and pressed his hand to the window. "Wow…" he breathed. You could see the whole city and both waterfalls from this height.

Alfred smiled fondly, clutching his stomach. "It's pretty…right?" he said calmly.

"Amazing," the Russian agreed.

He pulled up the armchair that was sitting in the corner of the room. He placed it next to Alfred's bed so he could stare out the window. He hated to admit how beautiful America was…

"...Hey Ivan?"

The Russian turned, a bit annoyed that the American would ruin the calm peace. "Vhat?"

"Um…do you hate Iggy?"

Ivan just leaned back in the chair and considered the question. "I…vouldn't say I hate him. Nyet…definitely not. I _do_ hold a grudge or two…but I hold one against the vorld at times, so it is not personal." He nodded to himself once that was explained, satisfied with the answer.

"Oh…" Alfred said quietly, returning his gaze to the massive window. The bed was pushed almost completely against it and the glass made up for the entire wall, so the view was endless.

Ivan just sat quietly for a minute. He enjoyed the silence, but the American seemed too tired anyway, so his conversation wouldn't get far if he sparked one. "Alfred?" he began. "England called you into that bathroom for a reason. Vhat…happened…between you two?"

He would never admit that he'd sat at the table, bending his fork back and forth the entire time they were gone. Because…who knew what could be happening in there?

He didn't understand why it bothered him so badly, but it _really_ had. He hadn't spoken at all for the rest of the dinner. He just watched Alfred pick at his food distastefully and Arthur insulting his manners. He wondered what had taken them so long to get back. His brain tried to connect the ends, but his conculsions always ended unplesantly.

"He wanted to talk about the START treaty we've got," Alfred replied vaguely.

The Russian just 'hmm'ed his response. The American could always be lying, but Ivan liked to believe that he wasn't.

"Um…why did you want that anyway?" Alfred muttered. "I mean…why'd you care how many missiles Iggy's got? Are you paranoid about him or something?"

Ivan just slipped his shoes off and undid his scarf, hanging it up so it could dry out on the inside parts that were still damp. "Nyet, I am not afraid of England, nor do I vant to attack him. I simply believe that everyone should know who has how many missiles, da?"

Alfred just nodded. That's what he figured the Russians had wanted, but he still had the horrible feeling that he'd completely sold out his best friend.

England seemed insulted by it. London and D.C. had the 'special relationship', so Arthur had sort of figured that it would be the two of them against the world again.

But…superpowers couldn't pick favorites.

Alfred rolled over and curled his legs up. His sides were cramping and he was starting to get nauseous. He _never_ got sick…not like _painful_ sick…

"Ivan?" he said carefully. Talking might distract him a bit. "Do you still have the tylonol?"

The Russian glanced over at him. He was really acting strange. His complaining wasn't like the normal groans and whines. It was more serious…

He reached into his pocket and stood to get the American a glass of water to take the pill with.

"Mm…thanks…" Alfred said pitifully, accepting the little white pill.

"Vas it something dat you ate?" Ivan wondered.

Alfred glared at him pointedly. "Why do you always suspect it's food with me?" he demanded.

"Because you are always eating!" Ivan replied, smiling.

Alfred just rolled over so he wouldn't have to look at the Russian. He _hated_ people commenting about his diet. When would they learn that it was a sensitive subject? He already had to check his BMI every few weeks to make sure he hadn't passed a 22.

The rest of the daylight hours passed in awkward silence. Ivan seemed perfectly content, staring out of the window. Alfred was too busy moping and feeling ill to bother turning on the television.

The falls had been lit up by the state park workers by the time that Ivan noticed Alfred was upset. The American was curled up in a ball in the dark room. The city lights outside lit the room just enough to see properly.

Ivan stood and moved to the side of the bed. "Vhat is wrong?" he wondered, gripping Alfred's shoulder and rolling him over onto his back. "Do you still feel ill?"

The American just closed his eyes.

"Alfred?"

"…"

The Russian brushed his hand over the American's cheek. "Are you mad?"

"…"

"I cannot help if you do not tell me vhat is wrong…"

Alfred mumbled something, but the Russian's ears couldn't pick it up. He leaned in further. "Don't…don't call me fat. I don't like that…" he muttered finally.

Ivan just laughed and put his knee up on the bed. "You stayed silent for _hours_ because of _dat_? he said, grinning incredulously.

"Everyone calls me fat…all the time," the American said miserably. "I don't like it…"

"You should not let their words bother you, Fredka…"

"Even Arthur…my best friend says I'm a fatass…" he muttered. _God_ he hated being open about things like this. At least Ivan wasn't being an asshole and teasing him about it… "Am I?" he demanded, loathing the vulnerability.

He just needed an honest opinion. He was sick, tired, a little jet-lagged, and now his confidence was draining.

The Russian just smirked. This was an opening to touch with no strings attached. There didn't have to be emotions behind it… "I vill check for you. Let's see…" he offered, moving down to the American's leg.

Alfred tensed. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Flex," Ivan said simply, staring up with bright, childlike eyes.

Alfred was aware of the wave of heat rush up his chest into his neck, but he just followed the instruction and clenched the muscles in his legs. He leaned back against the headboard while the Russian's hands gently pressed into aching legs. It felt sort of nice actually…

Ivan pinched his fingers gently to show the American how little skin was loose. "You see?" he said vindictively. "It is all muscle, da?"

Alfred just sent him a short glare.

"You do not believe me?" Ivan said, smirking. "Vhat is the usual 'problem area'? The stomach…da?"

"W-what! No!" Alfred said, holding his shirt down.

Ivan just smiled and pried his hands up. "I vould not tease, milyy…" he cooed. The American's flushed expression was amusing and inviting at the same time, but it was quite obvious he didn't want to be touched.

Ivan ignored it and wriggled his fingers under the 'McLovin' tee shirt. Alfred yelped slightly and Ivan laughed at him. The Russian's hands were cold.

Ivan's fingertips just explored the flat surface of Alfred's torso, gently rubbing and, squeezing the American's sides so the stomach aches would dissipate.

Alfred just sat against the headboard, wondering what the _hell_ was happening… Is _this_ what Iggy had been talking about in the bathroom stall?

Ivan noted that the American suddenly tensed further. "Nothing…" he assured him. "You are not _fat_, Fredka…" he muttered. "That does not excuse your diet…" The Russian rocked forward and put a hand under the American's chin. "I vould guess that your hyperactivity burns off your excess eating."

Alfred just stared at him. His brain wasn't computing the situation. Things didn't quite seem serious yet…

Until the Russian started leaning forward- dangerously. At which point, Alfred panicked. A wave of heat made his stomach clench and he did the only logical thing; he shoved the Russian off, with a palm to the face, and ran for the bathroom.

* * *

><p>Translations-<p>

Chto za huy?- What the fuck?

B'lyad, tam!- Fuck, there

Milyy- dear

* * *

><p><em>Wow…that was long.<em>

_So much politics._

_Do I need to change rating?_

_Please review._


	19. Paranoid Remnants

_GASP~! I missed a day! _

_But, in my defense, I was out yesterday boating and getting my ass kicked on skis by massive waves…_

_Ugh…I'm way too devoted to writing this. I got the skin rubbed off my thumb on an awkward joint for typing…but here's this anyway._

_Last chapter was about as much fluff as my brain could handle for now. So, back to the normal angsty drama. And there's a lot of hate in this chapter. Because i really do ship history...and the Soviet Union hated the United States. That does NOT mean that they wanted to start making out and being all fluffy -y'know? cause they HATED each other... -_-_

* * *

><p>Songs-<p>

'Psycho' by Puddle of Mudd (just for the flashback)

'Heart's a Mess' by Gotye

'The Collapse' by Adelites Way (Al's Flashback)

'Falling Out of Trees' by Barcelona

* * *

><p>Alfred was curled up into a writhing ball on the shower floor. The water was too hot, but he couldn't get up to turn it down. His heart was still pumping too quickly and he felt like he might be sick again.<p>

He'd run into the bathroom, having enough acumen to lock the door behind himself before collapsing over the sink and retching. He stumbled into the shower room and locked that door as well.

He hadn't bothered to get undressed. He just didn't want to stand up anymore. So, he'd jammed the water on and it had felt refreshing at first, but it grew steadily warmer and now it burnt his skin through his soaked clothes.

At least if he got sick, it would wash down the drain. This didn't feel like human illness. It affected everything. His arms and legs felt like they had lead weights tied to them, his head pounded, stomach churned, lungs pricked, and his eyes swirled.

Today had started bad, gotten a bit better, and then grown progressively worse. From being terrified of every shadow on the wall, having Belarus crash through the bathroom window and try to steal Ivan, getting drunk on a plane, running around Niagara state park, to having Iggy snap at him, Alfred was exhausted.

Then there was Ivan's…strange…behavior.

As far as Alfred was concerned, he could just brush it off as teasing. He'd gotten all worked up and upset over it, so it had obviously been a success. Ivan was just all-around creepy. The American could see him doing something like that just to freak him out. He wouldn't hold it over him.

Besides, it wasn't like he felt like worrying over it right now.

But, Ivan had nothing better to do. He sat against the locked bathroom door, knees pulled up, and staring out the large window.

Obviously…he had gone too far. He had forgotten how easy it was to overstep boundaries. He'd come so close to kissing his former enemy. And, if they were still fighting, it would've only served to piss him off further. But…they were friends again now…

If he didn't restrain himself, he'd ruin it all. In the past, kissing the one who hated him was a strategic move to mess with the American's psyche, but…Alfred didn't seem to hate him anymore.

But…any feeling of want, desire, or even love that Alfred might hold for the Russian…had been completely trampled by a century of shoving him away.

They could become friends again…but…anything beyond that didn't seem feasible.

Ivan's mind was racing through things he'd wanted to do with the American for twenty years since the 'peace' time had begun, but if he tried any of them, he'd probably just scare Alfred away. Or worse…make him angry or embarrassed.

And, while it was very amusing to piss the American off, or see him all flustered and speechless, Ivan was here to make allies of him. He didn't want to ruin his chances of making a strategic friendship by pushing himself on Alfred when he obviously wasn't wanted…

…

_1991- Final collapse of the Soviet Union_

_It was a long time coming. It didn't happen all at once either. It was slow and happened in steps. The Wall fell, the satellites set up their own governments, and Belavezha Accords declared the USSR completely dissolved. _

_So there was nothing to help it. _

_Ivan was fading. _

_His power was quickly draining, and he sat alone in his home. It was just past dusk and the sky had turned dark purple. The lights were off and the dark silhouettes of furniture and his few belongings took on the fickle shapes that the light from the window gave them._

_The former superpower was on the floor, legs heaped uselessly, leaning against the wall, and an empty vodka flask was fittingly clutched in his right hand. He rolled his fingers weakly to see if they would still work. _

_The door slammed open and he started. He'd been positive that he'd locked it. But, someone walked in. For a moment, the silhouette looked familiar, but no…it was much too tall…_

_"Hm…I had'a see it for myself…" the intruder said calmly. He leaned against a desk in the dark as if he knew the layout of the bedroom perfectly. "Guess you skipped some critical steps when you tried to make yourself a socialist…" he muttered._

_Ivan's skin was drying and peeling off. He was dissolving, but he already knew that…it had been slow coming. It felt a bit sad, but it was also what he'd so desperately needed. He'd been starving and confused for too long._

_But, would he come back after this? His land was splitting again. Russia would return, but Ivan wasn't sure if __**he**__ could pull past or if he'd __**become**__ the USSR and would die with it…_

_Sometimes when the government or social structure of a country changed so completely, the representative died with their way of life. There was a grey area in between. Ivan knew there had been another representative of his land before the Tsar system had really begun; he carried a lot of his predecessor's scars. _

_He didn't really understand why he didn't die when the Tsar system failed; he'd pulled through to be the Soviet Union as well. _

_But, things had finally gotten to the point where his social, political, and economic issues had called for changes. His boss had passed programs of reform: Glastnost and Perestroika. But, the new freedoms it gave to the citizens would obviously be used against the government. And the satellites quickly revolted for their independence. _

_Pandora's Box had been held open and it was slowly killing Ivan. One last attempt was made by his people to preserve the Union by kidnapping Ivan's boss and taking down the revolts by military force. But, the soldiers wouldn't kill their own people, and the Coup d'état promptly failed._

_The silhouette moved across the room to where Ivan was lying, and dropped down to sit against his own ankles and hover. _

_It spoke with America's voice, but he seemed too strong to be Alfred- too tall. "Your boss just resigned you know?" he said calmly, but it was a strained calm like he was trying to contain himself._

_Ivan turned his head away. This __**was**__ that damned American. _

_Communism and the Soviet Union might have beaten him and starved him, but America had never helped by trying to intervene and making his bosses paranoid. And he'd wasted so much money trying to make weapons to keep up, his people had to starve. America might have meant well for the good of the world, but Ivan was going to die because of him._

_White teeth stood out in the dark, along with a glint off glasses and the whites of the American's eyes. "You've got __**amazing**__ timing, you know?" he said, not bothering to hide his joy. "It's like you just __**waited**__ for Christmas to officially die for me…it's probably the best gift you ever gave me…"_

_Ivan just glared in silence. _

_The American leaned forward, brushing a hand over Ivan's cheek. _

_This was exactly what he'd wanted for fifty years. The Bolshevist way of life had disgusted him for a reason. The citizens of the Union had done nothing but suffer at the hands of their own government. __Alfred hardly knew how to describe the horror of their poverty. The state took everything they owned, made it property of the government, and paid back a fraction of a note for a day's work. _

_Any affection he'd had for Ivan had been shredded. Any respect he'd had was squandered. Ivan was a horrible, disgusting monster as far as America was concerned. He __**deserved**__ to die for what he'd let happen to his people._

_"You're going cold," he said, grinning teasingly. "I've waited a __**long**__ time for this…I traveled all the way over through this god-forsaken blizzard to watch it with my own eyes."_

_This was probably the worst, most demeaning way to fade off; having your enemy sit there and rub it in your face that your attempts for stability had completely failed. "Leave," Ivan said simply. "I vant to die in peace…have enough decency to allow me this."_

_Alfred stood, digging his fingers under the dying superpower's arms and lifting him up off the floor to lean against the wall. If the bastard wanted decency, he should've shown some to get it in return. _

_The glass flask fell to the wood floor and shattered at their feet. The American leaned forward, grinning like a predator. "You're not leaving me," he said simply. "Just die already. Then come back and haunt me, will ya?"_

_Ivan's eyes narrowed, and he gave a cold smirk before crumbling to ash in the American's arms. There was a wet "splat" that echoed over the practically-bare walls. _

_Alfred looked down into the pile of dust and broken glass. A beating heart was pumping slowly, cradled in the pile ashes. The American grinned and made his exit. _

_..._

Ivan tapped lightly on the door behind him while he waited. He had planned on leaving this morning. How did he always get sucked into staying?

There had been several instances this week where he'd come close to kissing the American. Ever since he'd returned from that collapse of the Union, he and Alfred had been progressing slowly. It had just begun to jump-start.

Recapping on the entire visit, Ivan was only confusing himself further. Alfred brought him back to America _just_ to get rid of his flu so both of their images would remain in-tact, but there had been some silent agreement for the Russian to stay and they started traveling, they'd had a shouting match that somehow lead to their hasty alliance, Ivan had told Alfred to take care of his heart and they'd almost kissed, then they both stood back to consider the implications of trying their relationship again and scared themselves away, then Ivan had tried to push it again…so…where did that leave them now?

They'd had their ups and downs in just the past week. They'd teased, avoided confessions, lied, laughed, bickered, been terrified, taken care of each other's wounds, reflected on the past, and come so close several times.

But, now was the time to slow down and stop to think this through. Alfred was obviously ill from _something_. He probably wasn't going to be willing to get out and do anything around the city in this condition. But, knowing him, he'd probably pretend to be fine and make Ivan go out and have "fun" without him. So, the Russian foresaw a lot of time to sort out his thoughts.

So, he kicked his feet to the floor and sat comfortably against the door, listening to the shower running, the steady drum of water in the other room, and the occasional pitiful moan the American gave.

In a way…Alfred had saved his life. The "Soviet Paradise" was a fabricated lie that was meant to quiet the rest of the world and keep them from digging their nose into Stalin's business. In reality, people lived in shanties with rotted roves and no knowledge of radio, electric lights, newspapers, or any recent advances.

Ivan _**hated**_ communism. He hated the USSR. He hated himself. He hated Stalin. He hated hating America. He hated _**everything**_ from that entire era of his life.

He just wanted to start over. He doubted that America would let it happen, _Alfred_ might, but the American people would _never_ forget their _favorite_ enemy. They'd always turn to England as their idol and label Russia the 'Commie' or the 'Reds'. And Ivan had no one but himself to blame. He'd practially _shoved_ Alfred into his former caretaker's arms.

Ivan _hated_ how naive Americans often were, believing only what they hear. How many of them still believed he was communist? How many of them believed that the citizens of the Soviet Union had _enjoyed_ their lifestyle? Hell, how many of them believed it was winter year-round in Russia?

Ivan stood and knocked on the wall to the shower. "Are you alright?" he called.

There was a muffled mumbling on the other side, and Alfred scuttled into motion. His vision swirled a little as he stood. He'd left his glasses on and little droplets of water made it impossible to see.

The American wasn't sure if he would be sick or not, so he started moving, hoping he wouldn't. He unlocked the door and moved out into the bathroom, unlocking that door as well.

He stepped out of the door, falling over the Russian that was planted on the floor. He hit the floor on his side and seemed to shrink a little in pain, his eyes closing and mouth set tightly.

"Fredka? Vhy did you not undress…? You are soaked…" Ivan leaned over and tugged on the American's wrist.

Alfred groaned and twisted his hand to grab Ivan's. "Help…" he muttered.

"I don't know if I am still strong enough to lift you, Alfred…" Ivan lied. He wanted to see just how bad this was…he was getting a horrible feeling about this.

The American gripped his hand and pulled himself to his knees. He couldn't get his voice to work to plead for help. Ivan figured that could just be his pride. But, he gripped the American's hand and pulled him up.

Alfred clung to the Russian for support. His head swirled one more time and his vision closed up.

_"You need to read these, Alfred…they just came in from West Germany," president Truman said, adjusting his round glasses on his nose. A calloused hand brushed through hair as he lit a pungent cigar. He pushed a stack of letters across the table to his country. "Hitler's soldiers wrote while they were in the Soviet Union."_

_Alfred lifted the papers and scanned them. His stomach churned at the descriptions. He wanted to be sick. Ivan's people…_

_.._

_Alfred gripped a Crossman pneumatic rifle, walking through a long hallway in a Soviet church. The west-wing of the building had once been an orphanage. Now, children were nailed to the walls by massive rusty steaks, their bodies stripped and mutilated. _

_There was no religion in this place. The priests were castrated, had their eyes poked out, arms or legs ripped off, and communist symbols had been scalded into their flesh. _

_The smell was unbearable. Alfred had a handkerchief tied around his nose, but he could still taste the rotting flesh smell on his tongue. The air felt so thick and hot that it seemed he was sweating bloody ash. _

_He had to see it for himself. No soldiers came, no politicians, no protection. And he knew he had to end it._

_.._

_"I…" For once in his life, Alfred had no idea what he wanted to say. He'd always been so free to say whatever he wanted…but right now, there was nothing coming to mind. _

_He just knew he wanted to shoot that stupid smirk off that Red's face. "I vouldn't usually brag, but I believe this says words of-" _

_Alfred shoved his hand across the railing and covered Ivan's face before he could finish his thought. "I don't care if you put a man in space," he lied. "Because…I'll do better. I flew first. The air belongs to __**me**__. Just give me ten years…"_

_.._

_"I should kill you," Ivan suggested. _

_"Well, you've already got missiles aimed at me in Cuba." The American laughed quietly, lighting up a cigarette. He wasn't quite sure when he'd started smoking, it was just there recently. "But, you know it wouldn't be smart, don't you."_

_Ivan grinned, leaning against the fancy expensive table Alfred was sitting at. They were in his capital. There was constantly a feeling of overwhelming, sickening happiness in America, a sort of freedom and lightness. It made the communist want to strangle the pig when he folded his hands over his desk and smiled like that. _

_"I really wish I could murder you," he said happily. "I have little dreams about it every night." He turned around, sliding his feet to the other side so he could face the American. He popped the cigarette from his mouth and took a quick drag before passing it back. "It's __**all**__ I seem to dream of anymore…"_

_"Get your fucking missiles away from my coastline," Alfred said, suddenly serious. _

_Ivan just laughed. "When you remove yours from Turkey and Italy."_

_Alfred's cruel smile returned. "Well, I guess we're at an impasse."_

_.._

_Ivan was just standing there. It was simple enough. But, everything was off. _

_He was supposed to be dead. The wall wasn't supposed to be there. So, why? Why was there a wall running through D.C.? How far did it stretch to the west? Just how many of his own politicians were communist? Who supported this?_

_The city was chaos. A tight mob of people was charging down Pennsylvania Avenue with guns, screaming profanities and throwing pieces of destroyed cars. The stores had been looted and food was being hoarded. _

_There was a loud crash and Alfred cringed, ducking behind the Vietnam Memorial for protection as a delivery truck had swerved to miss running someone over and crashed into a building. A piece of the front grill flew over the top of the shiny black wall Alfred was crouched behind. _

_In the distance, someone was taking a jackhammer to the foot of the Lincoln Memorial. People were setting fire to the White House gardens. Dead corpses of politicians were littered around the front lawn where they were caught up in the riot, their severed arms and legs being waved around like trophies. _

_Alfred put his head between his hands and shut his eyes, blocking everything out. He still heard it, so there was only one cure. He started screaming Bohemian Rhapsody at the top of his lungs to drown it out. His throat burned through the second refrain. _

_There was a click before Ivan pulled the trigger._

_"It vas only a matter of time, Fredka…"_

Alfred woke with a start. His bed was soaked…

The room was dark besides the city lights outside. It was pouring sheets of rain, so the image was blurred and distorted. The loud pattering covered the American's uneven breathing. Alfred looked down; he was still wearing the clothes he'd showered in…

He was shaking and his lungs kept seizing up.

The shower was going again, so Alfred figured he probably puked on Ivan. But he couldn't stay to apologize. He needed to get out. He couldn't sleep in the same room as the Russian after a nightmare like _that_…

So, still a bit lightheaded, sopping wet, shaking, and a bit drowsy, Alfred stumbled out into the hallway and to the elevators. No one was awake at this hour and the doors opened almost immediately.

He padded through the lobby listlessly. The doorman started asking questions in a Canadian accent, but the American didn't answer and just walked out into the rain. The lights from the 'OK Gift Shop' lit his face up red.

He wasn't sure where he was heading, but _anywhere_ was better than sitting in that room. It felt hot and sick in there, and the nightmare still held in the air over that entire place.

He'd left his glasses in the room and hadn't grabbed a key, but he didn't intend on going back tonight. He just moved aimlessly. The air was still pretty warm despite the downpour, and traffic was light in this city.

A bus with Korean writing all over the side drove past through a puddle. Water splashed up over the American. A man with an umbrella chased him down at one point and offered to give it to him, but he didn't respond.

He was sick and tired and he wasn't even sure why he was out here.

He passed food stands in the street, but even his stomach was feeling unresponsive. He was too hungry to eat, too tired to sleep, and too sore to stop moving.

Finally, he collapsed a few miles from the Maid of the Mist tour docks. The only landmarks were a Ferris wheel and a currency exchange building. Other than that, all the other buildings seemed to be restaurants, ice cream stores, or Cuban cigar shops, all the usual things.

The place was all but deserted. Many of the shops had closed already, but their lights always stayed on.

"Al?"

The American didn't even feel like lifting his head to see who was yelling at him.

Two steady hands gripped his arms and pulled him up into a sitting position. The stranger stared back at Alfred with a face like his own and a look of worry. "At least get out of the rain, genius!" he cried, pulling his brother off to the side and under the awning at a Red Robbins.

Matthew leaned him against the wall and gently tapped his brother's cheek with his palm. Alfred seemed to be passing in and out of consciousness.

How had he gotten out here?

The Canadian had to move out of the way when his brother keeled over and vomited into the sewage drain on the edge of the sidewalk. Alfred shuttered when he'd finished and laid out flat on the pavement, letting his head hang over the side of the curb. Water dripped down his face. A black trail of saliva drained down from his lip.

"Alfred!" Matt cried. What was he supposed to do? He tugged at the bottom of his wet tee shirt.

He had been walking home from work when a woman had collapsed from heat while loading groceries into her car, so he'd helped her get home, but it started storming on the way back. Alfred was really lucky that he'd been walking down the same street and just happened upon him like this…

But, the water was starting to flood the storm drain, and the tide was inching up towards American's face. Matt crawled over the flooded pavement and lifted his brother's head out of the gutter.

Alfred coughed as the water drained into his mouth. "I wanna go home, Mattie…"

* * *

><p><em>THAT was graphic~! XD<em>

_Overly dramatic Alfred is…overly dramatic._

_Too many amazing songs! __I don't even know if anybody listens to them, but some of these are just epic._

_And I promise I'll do a lemon eventually, but I gotta build their relationship to a point where it would make sense and not just be rape…I could write rape, but it sorta disgusts me…_

_Another quick note: I think I might put quick summaries at the beginning of each chapter just to say what historical events I'm using or the general warnings for language or graphic scenes._

_Don't worry, Al knows it was just a nightmare. He's just sick and delirious. _

_Review Please~?_


	20. Cold Ice

_Sorry about the hastiness at the end of this one. It's easiest to pass some time in the story by just summarizing…_

* * *

><p>Songs-<p>

'Make Believe' by The Burned

'So Complicated' by The Noisettes

'All I Want' by Sarah Blasko

* * *

><p>It really didn't feel like the time to be waking up…it was getting dark outside.<p>

"_Where am I?"_ Alfred wondered, taking in his surroundings.

He was lying in a bed, buried under crisp white linens and propped on warm, firm pillows. Around him, people were packing up stretchers and folding blankets. Patients walked past a hospital window, carrying IV bags with them and wearing gowns. The smell of hospital food wafted into his open hospital door.

Alfred pulled the sheets down. He had on a light blue smock and his glasses were gone. His face felt sticky and it was a bit too warm, so he threw the blanket off.

"Oh good morning, sleeping ugly," a sharp, sarcastic voice said happily.

Al's eyes glanced back over the room, prickling as they moved in his eyelids. The figure was blurry, but he'd recognize the crystal blonde hair and obnoxious voice anywhere. "Gil? What're you doing here?" he wondered.

The Prussian put a hand on his hip and ruffled the American's sticky hair. "I'm watchin over you, obviously. You'd think you would recognize it when someone's sitting in a hospital room with you."

Alfred sunk down into the sheets. "What's wrong with me?" he asked.

"Hm…" Gilbert took a seat in the armchair next to Al's bed. "The doctors can't diagnose you, so I'd say it's your crapshit economy and the fact that your leaders can't get anything done without pissing all over each other. I swear, sometimes you guys make me _glad_ I'm not a country anymore. I'd have to deal with you idiots."

"Yeah, you're lucky you're just freeloading off your brother," Alfred mumbled.

Gil just laughed and put his feet up on the side of the bed. "I wouldn't call it freeloading! He comes to me for my awesome advice all the time," he lied, waving his hand dismissively.

Alfred just ignored it. "What hospital is this? When did I get here? Why are _you_ here?"

"Jesus! Chill with the questions…" Gilbert said, folding his arms over his chest.

"You got here yesterday morning. You slept through the day, aru."

"Yao?"

The Chinese man stepped through the door into the hospital room. "Yes?"

"Why're you guys here?" Al wondered, reaching to the bed stand for his glasses.

"Well, I'm here to check in on the money you owe me," China said calmly. "I understand that you're working on that?"

"Ah…I'll get right on it…" the American said awkwardly, knowing he didn't have the means to pay off a fourth of his debt immediately. He owed several trillion to the Chinese alone…

"I just hope that you choose some responsible crediting policies to guarantee the interests of your investors," Yao said stiffly.

Al just frowned and laid back a bit. He knew that China couldn't do much but grumble bitterly.

They had too much invested in the American economy. This was a financial Cold War with no causalities and the stakes were too high to fail. If China made a move to sell away some of the American debt they owned, then other countries would start doing the same and it would immediately drive down the worth of each holding. It would be financial suicide for China, but exactly what America needed because it would eventually drive his debt down.

But, the American dollar was still the most reliable and liquid investment product in the world so long as it remained the world's reserve currency. And this pissed off many European nations and Japan who held large portions of his debt and lent him money. It meant that America could continue holding his interest rates down and borrowing cheaply while still being in debt to half the world.

"I'm sure my boss is working on it…" Alfred muttered, clearing the phlegm from his throat. He felt a bit dizzy and sleepy still.

Yao just nodded angrily. There really wasn't anything he could do right now besides hope that America pulled his act together. "I'll check in again in a few weeks…your clock is ticking, aru."

"Bye, Yao," Prussia said insistently. He was supposed to be watching over the American and making sure he didn't die or something. The Chinese man wasn't helping matters by raising the poor guy's blood pressure.

Yao got the implication and said his goodbyes.

…

Matthew was furious.

Any half-decent brother would be.

Why the hell was Alfred stumbling around Niagara, Ontario at two-thirty in the morning in a heavy downpour? _Someone_ had to be blamed for this.

So he found himself pounding furiously on a hotel door at the Embassy Suites on the thirty-seventh floor. He waited politely, rocking on his heels. He silently plotted to punch the Russian in the jaw the second he opened the door.

But he never answered.

Matt silently fumed. Had Ivan just left already? Did he drive Al out into the rain and leave? That was unforgivable.

"You locked out, boo?"

The Canuck jumped a bit, startled. A maid had tapped him on the shoulder, pulling her cart behind her. Matthew just nodded and let her open the door for him. It seemed a bit easier than breaking the door down like a lumberjack…

He stepped inside quietly, as usual, and checked the place.

The front room was still empty, completely untouched. The complimentary water bottles had been left in their wrapping and the lock on the wine fridge was still in place. The couch hadn't been pulled out.

He walked through to the hallway. The tiles were soaked. A trail of water led across the carpet to the bedroom. He followed it in and scanned the room for the Russian.

Ivan was sitting on the floor against the window, staring out over the falls in silence. He didn't seem to hear Matthew walk in, so the Canadian drew closer. Part of him still wanted to beat the shit out of the Russian, but he knew better and had gathered his head now.

Besides, Ivan seemed upset. So, Matt found all his angry words leaving him. He touched the taller man's shoulder gently. "Um…Russia?"

Ivan looked up, eyes adjusting. "A-Alfred?"

Matt's hand dropped in frustration. "No, I'm Canada…but that's beside the point. Why are you on the floor? Why was Alfred on the street at two this morning? What did you do?"

Matt jumped again when the Russian's head suddenly bashed into the window. He shook his head despondently. "Vhy aren't you Alfred?"

"Because he's the United States…I'm Canada…"

"I didn't think he'd run off…"

"What did you _do_?" Matt demanded, starting to worry.

Ivan shook his head; it was starting to bleed where he'd bashed it. It would heal in a few hours. "I did not do anything. He ran to the bathroom and vas sick. So, I sat outside the door and vaited for him. He tripped over me as he opened the door and passed out. So, I put him in his bed and took my shower. I did not expect that he vould leave vhen I was not looking…" his voice drifted off.

Matt dropped down to his knees. "Well…he's lucky I found him…"

"Who are you?"

"Canada…"

Ivan didn't seem to hear him again.

The Russian was tired. He didn't sleep at all for the past two nights, waiting for Alfred to come back in. He'd gone out and searched the hotel and the rest of the city for him when he'd realized that the American had left. But, there were too many places to look, and Alfred didn't seem to be in any of them.

He wasn't sure if he should blame himself or not. The American had left without saying a word…

"Do you know vhere he is?"

Matt brought his knees up and locked his arms around them. "I called England to take him down to D.C. But, Iggy had to go to a meeting, so I called Francis instead. But, he got sick two days ago after getting home from Philly. He promised he'd call in a friend…"

…

"So…what're you gonna do?" Gilbert wondered, sitting back down after closing the door. "You can't have half the world up your ass constantly, trying to get money off ya?"

Alfred groaned. His stomach was starting to hurt again.

"Don't you _dare_ get sick again!" Gil snapped. He'd had to get the sheets cleaned out three times already because the American kept throwing up in his sleep. He wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for Francis' desperate call and the fact that he liked Alfred.

There was a time where he would've killed all of the Allies, including America, for making him lose his country status. But, things calmed down and Al was a pretty cool guy when you met him personally.

The American just smiled weakly. He was all pale and sickly, and Gilbert didn't like it. "I guess we'll have to cut spending…" Alfred muttered. "I need to stop outsourcing jobs and borrowing…but, it's tough to stop y'know? After you've started the cycle there's not much you can do."

There was a calm knock at the door. Gil turned to Alfred. "You expecting any company?"

The American just shook his head and watched the door curiously.

Prussia got up and opened it, peering into the hall. Iceland walked inside, closing the door behind himself. He took a seat and looked at Alfred calmly.

"The hell?" the American muttered. "I don't owe _you_ money too…do I?" he wondered. Iceland hardly _ever_ visited, and when he did, it was usually to get Coca-Cola.

The boy just shook his head and folded his hands in his lap, his puffin hopped to sit beside his chair leg. "Europe held a meeting regarding your economic decline." He moved one of his hands from his leg and reached for his breast pocket, taking out a folded sheet of paper. "You owe three-hundred-fifty billion to England, one-hundred-ten billion to Switzerland, seven billion to Luxembourg, six billion to Germany, and substantial amounts to Ireland, Belgium, Poland, Turkey, Italy, France, the Netherlands, and several other European nations. They wanted to know if you had any plans on paying this off yet."

Alfred started, sitting up angrily. "Of course I plan to pay it off! Who sent you anyway?" he demanded.

Iceland just frowned. The American was _never_ angry at him…he'd never had a reason to be. "Norge and Sve sent me, who you are also in substantial debt with," he answered calmly.

"Just…tell them I'm working on it…"

"Al, they won't like that answer. They want a plan, or at least a deadline," the Icelander warned.

Prussia stood, raising a fist, "Look, kid. He _just_ said he's working on it." Gilbird fluttered out of his pocket, 'cheep'ing angrily.

Emil just ignored it, tucking his pant leg more tightly into his boot. "I'm only the messenger," he said calmly. "They just wanted me to warn you. Also, Alfred, you should make it a priority to pay back Japan and the countries that you import oil from."

The American just nodded lethargically. Having a list of people he owed money to just placed out in front of him like that was stressful and worrying. He already felt sick, but he got the feeling that this was just the beginning of his recession. "Anything else?" he asked carefully.

Emil just shrugged. "I said what they sent me to say. Oh…wait…England wanted me to tell you to '_Get off your arse_'…" The white-haired boy tapped his chin, nodding. "…Yes…I believe he worded it that way."

Prussia glared, "Look you little-"

Gilbird flew off his shoulder and darted through the air at the bird that had trailed in behind the teenager. Mr. Puffin squawked and pecked at Gilbert's little chick. The Prussian let out a string of curses, ran forward, and swatted at the flying penguin.

Emil's face flushed and he dove after his bird. "Puffin!" he snapped, holding his arm out imploringly. His bird retreated, landing on his head. "I don't like him either, but I'm not trying to peck his eyes out, right?" he scolded, looking up and tapping his pet's beak affectionately.

The Icelander looked at Alfred, his blue eyes far more calm that the American's tired, troubled ones. Emil was technically older than Alfred, but America had grown up a lot quicker. Still, the Icelandic boy was composed and mature compared to the American.

He smiled. Alfred's country had provided for Iceland's national defense since the fifties and Emil remained closest to his fellow Nordics and the United States.

Iceland was particularly proud of the Summit he'd held Reykjavík in 1986 where Regan and Gorbachev had met and set the stage for the end of the Cold War. He still liked to brag about how _his_ meeting and his leadership had assisted in the collapse of the USSR where other countries' meetings had failed.

America was still the largest foreign investor in the Icelandic economy, and Emil was always grateful for that. He'd suffered a bad economic crisis in 2008 that had left him sick and weak, then Eyjafjallajokull erupted two years later and things couldn't have gotten any worse.

But, with help from Russia, he'd gotten back on his feet, and America was _always_ a steadfast investor. Tourists poured in from the U.S. and America signed an agreement to build a silicon factory in southwest Iceland.

The two countries were 'friends' as far as Emil was concerned. He didn't come over and visit often, but they retained close relations and strove for the same global goals. Plus, the Icelander had a certain…thing…for Alfred's Coca-Cola…

The Nordic sat on the edge of his friend's bed. "I am _sure_ that you'll pull yourself together. Things always seem much worse than they are in reality, and you would be surprised just who will come to your aid when you really need it."

Alfred smiled weakly and reached out to pet Mr. Puffin. "Oh, I'm sure things will work out eventually…I'm just worried about what it'll take to go back to normal." He dropped his hand back. "Go tell everyone that I'll have a plan by August."

Emil nodded and stood, putting his hand down for his bird to step onto.

Prussia watched him leave. He turned to the American who had let out a heavy sigh and plopped his head back onto the pillow. "I've got nothing against that guy, but why's he gotta say everything in such a monotone?"

Alfred shrugged, "Maybe it's the Norwegian in 'em, I dunno." He cracked an eye open and glanced at his heart monitor. Was his condition really _that_ bad that it was necessary to have that. "We're in D.C.? Right?"

"Yeah, Walter Reed Army Medical Center," Gilbert replied.

"Hm? They're supposed to be relocating soon…" Alfred muttered. "And why'd they let me in? I'm not a wounded soldier…"

"Well, you've _been_ a soldier before, and you're kinda in a shit condition right now," the Prussian reasoned. "Besides, I think you're sorta an exception. The President said he wanted you to come here so you could get the best treatment."

"Peachy," Alfred muttered. "What about Ivan?"

"What about him?"

"Is he still in Canada?"

"Where?"

"Ah…dangit, I don't know. I left him somewhere yesterday morning. My brother must've called someone to bring me back to my capital. He probably panicked…"

Gilbert laughed. "That crazy bastard couldn't get upset because you left him in his sleep."

"It wasn't in his sleep. He was in the shower."

"Oh, what a _big_ difference," the Prussian said sarcastically. "I think you should worry more about yourself right now than caring whether or not your little boyfriend misses you."

"He's not- …you know what? It doesn't matter. You're probably right," Alfred muttered. He rolled over and pulled the sheets up.

Ivan probably _didn't_ care that he'd left. He could call a plane now and go home. He'd been trying to get home all week, but he was just too polite to turn Alfred down. It wasn't like the Russian _wanted_ to stay.

…

Alfred remained in the hospital for two weeks. Prussia left after the third day and Iceland had returned for a few days to watch over the American.

England called regularly to make sure someone was keeping an eye on him so he wouldn't try to escape the hospital to get his fast food fix. He felt better knowing that a country was keeping watch and not just the hospital staff. Regular humans wouldn't be able to do much.

Europe and Asia were starting to worry, but many of them had their own financial issues to worry about.

Ivan tried to get a flight to D.C. but he hesitated. Alfred never called or tried to contact him. The Russian was starting to get the feeling that it _was_ his fault that the American left. He had scared Alfred off by trying to kiss him. He probably wouldn't want to see him now.

* * *

><p><em>Hurgh…the economy is confusing. Would anyone believe me if I said I wasn't even fifteen yet?<em>

_Okay, I didn't come up with Iceland's name. In a recent blog, Himaruya put several possible names up for him. I just chose Emil Steilsson._

_I love Iceland. Plus, if America and Russia were a married couple, Iceland would be like their adopted teenager who'd like already moved out of the house. Both countries have helped him out in different ways, and the major summit that ended the Cold War was held in Iceland's capital. (ahah, geddit? __**Cold**__ war and __**Ice**__land! ...sorry...) _

_I wonder what that makes Norway? Still his bro. Just cause that's frickin adorable._

_-To all you lurkers who subscribed to Alerts and never leave feedback,_

_REVIEW. Tell meh whacha think?_


	21. Sexy Jeffersons

_If you haven't seen that history Channel series 'John Adams' then the title won't make sense to you...so...um...nevermind. _

_More Confederate America ahead (he's got a foul tongue on him). Justa warning. _

_And I'm trying to draw some parallels between Ivan and Alfred's beginnings. I tried to make their bosses give them the same lessons so they grow up with similar beliefs, but the way they're taught is much different…I'm not making sense. Just read._

* * *

><p>Songs-<p>

'Voices'- by Saosin

'Ghost' by VNV Nation

'Cold War' by Janelle Monae (gives wrong mood, but cool song)

* * *

><p>The nightmare had come again. Alfred just hugged his pillow to his chest and stared at the wall in the dark. His stomach churned and he was overheating.<p>

It had to _mean_ something. You can't just have the same horrible nightmare over and over, dreaming about a crazy, impossible death, without it meaning something…

It started peacefully. The beginning of the subconscious thought had been just another memory. It was a fond one too.

_~1776_

_Thomas had always been one of Alfred's favorite people. He wasn't a particularly talented orator, but he knew how to get his points across with words in the written sense. The young America was sitting between Ben Franklin and Jefferson, listening to the discussion eagerly. He was finally declaring the revolution over. He would finally be rid of that bloodsucking leech that the British Empire was. _

_The teen was wearing a blue buttoned overcoat with large cufflinks, wool breeks tucked into his boots, and an ascot tucked into his collar. It was unbearably hot in the capital building, but Jefferson had __**specifically**__ told him to look nice today. _

_Alfred listened intently to each of his leaders. Arthur had told him that other countries had 'bosses', but America worked differently. He didn't have a __**boss**__, he had many people who discussed what was best and came to an agreement…and he was quite positive that this method kicked ass in comparison. _

_Each man had a different perspective. They each sought independence, but they had different views on how it should be carried out and how it would be maintained. Alfred listened to each of them and picked apart their personalities. _

_Adams was very level-headed, but he seemed too hesitant under the circumstances. Franklin looked at everything from the politics and science point of view. Hamilton was a man of many words but fewer actions than he suggested. Washington saw the military perspectives and related best to the common man. _

_Alfred's personal favorite was Jefferson. The man tried not to think too much of the future, but to focus on the present and what was immediate. And that- was a kick to England's balls. It was necessary. _

_"Jefferson?" the teen said, tugging on the cuff of the man's coat. _

_Thomas was a tall guy, brooding and serious at times, but also very good-humored. He gave Alfred his attention. _

_"What happens now?"_

_Jefferson just smiled calmly. "Now, you grow strong. Without Britain holding you back, you can grow to be one of the most powerful nations the earth has ever seen," his smile grew warm and fond. He loved his country as much as the next man. It was just a perk to know him personally. _

_Alfred glanced down at his own physical figure. He was still in that awkward teenage phase where your limbs all seem too long, your shoulders too small, and your feet too large. The American fiddled with his ascot. It was itchy on his neck. _

_"Do you really think I'm ready to be powerful?" he said, voice cracking a bit with anxiety. _

_A rough smack to his wrist and Alfred looked up, shocked. Thomas' mouth was set thin. "Don't doubt yourself now!" he chided. "You're more prepared, and far more deserving, than any of those European imperialists." _

_"But-" Alfred began, getting cut off by another slap. _

_Jefferson leaned forward and put his finger up to show this was important. Alfred blinked. "Power is not measured by how you achieve it, or from whom…it doesn't matter if you only had to kill a fly, or if you stormed the gates of hell… Power is measured by how you utilize it. You have to do the right thing, recognize other nations' importance, and not try to impose yourself by gobbling up land that doesn't belong to you." The founding father sat back and smiled fondly. "__**We**__ can make you strong…but only __**you**__ can make it count."_

_He stood to go sign the document they had been writing. Alfred just smiled, truly content. The air felt a bit foggy in the dream-like state, but even the randomly swirling background didn't distract from the Declaration they were signing. _

_But it was all wrong…it…suddenly wasn't the way he remembered. Ben Franklin turned to look at him. The skin on his face was dripping off like wax, his eyes bulging from their sockets and falling out onto the floor. _

_Alfred screamed and the building lit in flames. _

_From there, it went down the exact same way. His capital was charged by a massive mob. Buildings burned and his leaders were stabbed and shot. _

_There was always a gun. Nobody in the mob ever had a face except Ivan. The Berlin wall always ran across D.C., and there was always fire. Those few things never changed. _

_Other factors were sometimes sprinkled in. One time, Alfred had climbed into a bomb shelter until he woke up. Another time, the entire thing was a massive blur where his eyes kept rolling in his head and wouldn't focus, but he could hear what was happening. Sometimes, Ivan was holding his faucet, and blood was pouring from the end- with no entrance point… _

And Al was always terrified by the time he woke up. The dream was no scarier than anything he'd already _lived_ through…it was just…one of those dream situations where the emotion of it is heightened.

Alfred could hear Emil in the next room over, tapping pots and pans as quietly as he could manage. He had been discharged from the hospital and relocated to his home near the White House. It was more comfortable. Iceland stayed to keep him company, take care of him, and call for help if his condition suddenly declined.

The actual _country_ of Iceland wasn't doing anything- as usual- but that didn't mean that Emil wouldn't. He walked in carrying a tray with some cinnamon oats, eggs, apples, and toast.

He'd never liked cooking too much. Finland usually did more domestic things like that…and Iceland wasn't used to cooking without fish…

But, Alfred didn't have his usual appetite anyway. Emil set the tray down with careful hands and glanced at his temporary charge. At least Alfred's house was packed with Coke…

"How are you?" the quiet boy managed after a moment. For once, the American was the quiet one…

Alfred stared at the ceiling, a blank expression on. His glasses were sitting on the bedside table, smudged and unnecessary. The American was afraid to open his mouth. It might upset the careful balance he'd managed to get his stomach under.

"You have to eat eventually," Iceland said simply. He almost cringed when Alfred's blue eyes rolled back into his head again. The Nordic was _seriously_ wishing his brother or Tino were here…they'd know how to handle this.

Still, Emil was a good friend. He pushed the tray back on the nightstand and carefully pulled Alfred's eyelids back. "I'm not feeding you by hand," he said calmly.

The American pushed himself up and rested his head against the headboard. He was pale and his eyes were duller than they should be. He held a hand out for the toast.

The Icelander watched his ally eat with a stoic expression. He remembered a thousand years ago, being the first European nation to actually find America. It had a different representative back then. And Emil had been a bit upset to hear that this new America had killed off the native representitive. But, Alfred had a way of making up for his mistakes.

Alfred had been the first country to recognize the Republic of Iceland on June 17th, 1944, after Emil had severed from Denmark in 1941. Denmark was occupied by Nazi Germany, so the Allies began providing protection to the other Nordics. Eight years later, Emil and Alfred were working together with England to create NATO.

"Ice?" Alfred said, chewing his toast carefully.

"What?" the teen wondered, moving a bowl of oatmeal before the American could spill it.

"I need some advice…I don't know how to fix my economy."

Emil just stared at the blonde. How did he expect Iceland could be any help with such matters? He had come running to his allies when his economy had crashed three years ago. If he couldn't fix his own problem, how could he be expected to help the world's superpower?

Alfred watched the boy's expression slowly change in thought. He was feeling a bit better after getting some food in his stomach. "Well…what would _you_ do in my position? I mean…who would you go to for advice?"

Iceland considered this question carefully. He had several friends he could go to for advice, but many of them would be insubstantial assistance. "I…would go to Norge," he decided finally.

"So…your brother?"

Emil stiffened. "I prefer not to call him that."

Alfred quirked an eyebrow. "Why not?" he asked curiously, his voice croaking a bit.

The Icelander just closed his eyes calmly. "I prefer to be independent. Norge and I are equals."

Alfred just shrugged. That was probably the best answer he'd get. The American rolled his shoulders and pushed himself to sit up properly. His debt rose every second and it made his bones feel like lead.

He considered going to Mattie for advice, but the Canadian would probably just suggest giving out national healthcare and going socialist. There was always England or France, but they were both having their own issues.

There was only one other 'brother' that Al had…but he doubted his presence would be welcomed…

"Hey…Emil?"

"Já?"

"Can you drive?"

…

Ivan tapped his foot restlessly. He had seen the city several times over. He was tired of all the tourist traps and cheap souvenir shops. This place was drowsy. Everyone was so laid back and quiet that he found himself falling asleep in odd places like bus stops or park benches.

He'd called a jet to come get him and take him home; it was on its way now.

…

_~January, 1992_

_Alfred was sitting at his desk in the lower levels of the White House, grumbling in his office. What other nation had to fill out paperwork on New Year's Eve? He should be watching the New Year's ball drop in Central Park…__**he**__ of all people should get to celebrate…_

_But, there was a lot to be attended to now. The Soviet Union had just collapsed, leaving America the most powerful nation on earth. If Alfred was stressed out before, with the nuclear threats and responsibility of the Cold War, he had no idea how stressful it would be in the aftermath. A lot fell onto him now. _

_President Bush and Gorbechev had come to their terms and declared the United States and the Russian Federation a strategic partnership- whatever __**that**__ meant. _

_To Alfred, it simply meant that the new Russia had been reborn… _

_And he wanted to meet him. _

_But he was also very…anxious. What if the new Russia was completely different? What if he tried to forget __**everything**__ that had ever happened between them? What if he only remembered the bad? What if he only remembered the good? What if it wasn't __**Ivan**__ at all?_

_But there was always that little voice that reminded him that it would __**have**__ to be Ivan. When a country permanently dies, they don't dissolve like that…they just die and wake up again as an immortal human- like Prussia did. _

_Ivan was recreating himself, just as he'd done during the Russian Revolution almost a century ago. _

_Alfred wondered what he'd look like this time. Would he still have that bulbous nose and the soft blonde hair? Would he still wear that scarf all the time? Would he still have the scars? His eyes had __**better**__ be the same color…_

_Either way, things would be much different… _

_Alfred couldn't shake that stupid hope that they could finally go back to the way they were before. But, it still was a crazy notion. He'd just have to wait it out. _

_Wars like that often left people at odds for hundreds of years. Even now, France and England had only __**just**__ become good friends again. Alfred wasn't sure how much further than that they were, but he knew that they were building the Eurotunnel under the English Channel to connect the two countries…so it looked hopeful. _

_Still, it had taken them two World Wars and an additional fifty years to get to that point…_

_Alfred shook his head roughly and scratched out what he was writing. Was he really trying to relate his relationship- or lack thereof- with Ivan to France and England's? _

_"America."_

_Alfred turned. His boss was standing in the doorway to his office. His hairline was receding and his face was wrinkling, but Alfred had watched that happen to so many presidents he was used to it. But, this man hadn't gotten to a 'first name' basis with his country yet. Alfred didn't mind. "Boss?"_

_"You have a visitor who would like to meet you," Bush said calmly. __Alfred wondered why the __**President**__ was bringing him his guests. It must've been that his term was going to end this year, so he didn't have a lot to do anymore. _

_He stepped aside and pulled the door open further. _

_A young man stepped in. He was tall and slender with sharp shoulders and a long scarf wrapped around his neck. He was wearing a nice black suit and a tie. He bowed slightly, blonde hair falling over his eyes. He stared up at Alfred with a faint smile. _

_Alfred stared back, unsure how to react. The large violet eyes looked more childish than before. Any wrinkles the American could remember were gone. Alfred suddenly felt so much older…_

_The President put a hand on the young man's shoulder, squeezing lightly for him to stand straight. "This is America," he said, motioning to where Alfred was sitting. _

_Alfred just gaped. It shouldn't shock him this much…_

_"America, this is the Russian Federation."_

_..._

Ivan caught a bus to the airport and waited for his flight.

He'd aged a bit over the twenty years that had passed since then. But, that day had been different for him than it must have been for Alfred. He'd been excited to meet America. And, Alfred seemed nice. But...then he'd started talking...

As the new Russian Federation Ivan remembered _everything_. He was still himself after all. So, meeting the American was sort of awkward, but at least it was a chance to start over and forget all that.

But, between the two of them, they never let things be that easy. They immediately started up their normal bickering again. But, at least it wasn't as crazy and psychopathic this time...

This trip had been...well, at first it had been more of a kidknapping situation. But, it had been enjoyable after all. And, Ivan felt he'd made progress in his relations to the American. The way their trip ended was...unfortunate, but they had already achieved satisfactory results. Ivan figured it was probably best to cut it off here anyway, before they found a way to ruin it...

…

Iceland was one of the European countries who knew how to drive on the left side of the car. Everyone in his country drove that way before the conversion in the sixties to right-hand driving to conform with the rest of the continent.

Alfred was still being despondent. He didn't even touch the radio. He occasionally spoke, only to give directions.

Iceland wasn't sure if he wanted to meet Alfred's 'brother'…

The American was scratching his lip and biting his tongue. It felt like bugs were crawling in his mouth. Alfred hated being 'sick'. It always made him imagine unreasonable things were happening to his body.

Emil just smirked. "If you itch in the mouth, you will receive a mouthful of knuckles," he chided.

"Is that a threat?"

The crystal blonde just shook his head, watching the road. The sun was still rising and the rainwater from the previous night was evaporating off the blacktop.

"Do…you know dream symbolism?" Alfred asked suddenly.

"En sá?"

"Um…I have this nightmare…it keeps coming back," the American said carefully. "I never get the same dream twice…let alone every night. So, it's just weird."

Emil didn't speak, so Alfred just continued. "Well, it's sort of an apocalypse one I guess… It always starts with some memory of my past, and then things fade off to present day. And, there's a riot in my capital, the Berlin Wall's in America, everyone's getting killed, there's fire, and Russia always shoots me-" he spoke quickly, covering his mouth and hiccupping.

The pale teen just narrowed his blue eyes in thought. He hardly ever dreamed at _all_, so this wasn't his topic. "I don't know what it means," he decided. "You should try to connect the emotions of it to whatever is picking at you in waking life. Either way, it seems like a subconscious cry for help…"

Alfred watched the road, "I don't get it though…I'm not angry or afraid of Russia or anything…in fact, we're getting along pretty well. I just left him in Canada because I felt sick…I hope I didn't make him think it was _his_ fault…"

Iceland tried to digest this information. This wasn't his responsibility to even _be here_ in the first place. But no one expected anything, so he didn't mind. He somehow felt compelled to help his allies. And both Russia and America were good friends.

Emil knew all about their old relations before communism. The whole _world_ knew about it. If they were going to become close again, the Icelander wanted to help. These two knew how to screw things up like nobody's business.

"Did you tell him where you were going and why?" Emil demanded calmly.

"Ah…well…I kinda had that nightmare and wanted to leave, so I just walked out and Mattie found me and sent me home."

Iceland could've face-palmed. "Did you consider calling?"

…

The two drove on for hours. Emil already knew this trip would be a total waste, but he'd learned by now that it was best to just go along with it.

They arrived in Lexington, South Carolina after ten or so hours of driving, and Alfred hauled his ass up and walked down a dirt driveway to a black-iron gate. He unlatched it and held it open, motioning for his companion to follow.

Iceland had a _really_ bad feeling about this.

They walked up the driveway of a white, southern plantation-style mansion. The front lawn was manicured and the trees were trimmed. There was a chicken coup in the side yard where roosters were going crazy and squawking.

Alfred walked carefully to the door, his legs not working quite right and popping a bit in their sockets. He hadn't gotten up and walked in a few days…

He shuffled up the stairs to the door. There was a painted white porch-swing that looked very inviting. Alfred glanced through the metal wiring on the other side of the glass window, raising his hand to use the knocker.

"GET OFF MY DOORSTEP, FUCKER!"

The glass shattered into Alfred's face and a fist smashed into his teeth. The American flew back onto the white-washed porch with a busted lip and some glass in his hair.

Emil just stared down at him with wide eyes and a gaping jaw. Alfred had really ended up with knuckles in his itching mouth? "I...I told you..." he muttered.

* * *

><p><em>Translation.<em>

_En sá? –what?_

* * *

><p><em>OH NOES! Was my FrUK showing a bit there for a moment? I think it was~!<em>

_And the itching mouth thing is just an Icelandic superstition. Just some cultural information there. Hope ya liked it. _

_Apparently one can get whiplash when their faja flips them off a water tube going thirty miles an hour…_

_I've been working on my writing style. I'm trying to be a bit more descriptive and give more personality to the characters. So, i'd love some feedback XD_

_Review Plz?_


	22. Red Telephone

_Sorry about all the Iceland lately…He's just one of my favorites, and that's where the last summit of the Cold War was held where they kinda made up. And, Iceland maintains close relations to both America and Russia, so…ehem. _

_I'm sorry this took so long. I've had it for almost a week and haven't put it up. On the bright side, the story's racked in a lot of reviews because I've given it some time…_

* * *

><p>Songs<p>

'Nobody's Home' by Pink Floyd (what's better than a song written about the Berlin Wall?)

'Take it or Leave it' by The Cinema

'Easy to Crash' by Cake

'Night and Day' by Sara Blasko

* * *

><p>"So…how's <em>our<em> house been treating you in D.C.? Keeping up with the garden?" Will said coldly, jabbing his toe into the Yankee's ribs.

Alfred's eyes were open, but they were still swirling. He'd only _just_ woke up from being knocked out. His lip was bleeding. "Where's Ice?" he demanded. The pale kid disappeared so easily…

Will shrugged, stepping inside and slamming the door in Al's face.

Alfred rolled over. He felt like being sick, but he had come this far to talk to someone, and he _intended_ to do so. He got to his knees and pounded on the door. "I need help!" he shouted.

Will was obviously ignoring him.

Alfred groaned and beat his head into the door. If he didn't feel so close to throwing up, he could probably break it down with his bare hands.

Instead, he searched the yard for a large rock and bashed it into the window, successfully breaking the remaining glass and getting his hand inside to unlock the door. He shoved it open. "Will! For the good of this fucking country, get your ass out here!" he shouted.

There was a loud click and Alfred turned, staring down the barrel of a hunting rifle.

"Thought I told'ja to get off my property."

Alfred just laughed. He felt dizzy, sick, pissed off, and extremely impatient. He wasn't about to take this right now. His hand gripped the barrel of the gun and twisted the metal up. Just because he didn't want to throw his weight around didn't mean he's lost _all_ strength.

…

…

Ivan was beginning to wonder why he'd come home. Belarus was still in her own country for some reason, but he didn't question it. He was only grateful.

But, now he remembered how horribly lonely it was in Russia. It was such a large country that he often felt like an island. It was nice to sit outside in the peaceful summer weather and just watch his people from his doorstep. But…it was often too quiet.

He loved to be around people. The silence suited him best, but he preferred seeing everyone cooperating and being friends. Even if he was never really included, it still warmed him just a bit.

But, after visiting Alfred and growing accustomed to the hectic, brash, confusing behavior of the American and _his_ country, it all felt too calm.

_1989- Berlin Wall_

_Ivan sat at his piano chair, head pasted to the dusty cover over the strings. He'd smashed bottles of liquor across the room, so the carpet was stained in several places. He'd been smoking almost pure nicotine. _

_An unsteady hand fiddled with the switch on an electric lamp. He'd never used electric lights and heating systems before. They were unnecessary luxuries. The room was illuminated in buttery orange light. _

_It was quiet. _

_His house was much too large to be this silent. _

_They'd left one by one. First Estonia, then the other Baltics followed, Gerogia, Ukraine, Belarus, all of them escaped, slamming doors behind them as they left the house. _

_Even China left. He'd thought he __**liked**__ Ivan for the longest time. The 'Russian' was one of the 'cutest things he'd ever seen', until Yao had walked in on Ivan after the Chernobyl explosion in 86. _

_Ivan was throwing things, screaming curses in Russian, and beating his face into the walls. All he could think about was how to keep it a secret from America. He couldn't let Alfred hold this over him. He hadn't expected China would walk in. How could he have known he would?_

_Suddenly, Ivan wasn't '__**cute'**__ anymore. _

_But, it wasn't like he ever was. Yao must have known this. He'd always been a bit nervous around Ivan, and he'd never really __**wanted**__ his company, but he liked to pretend that Ivan was who he pretended to be. Yao had never really understood __**who**__ he was dealing with…_

_Now, they were all crawling away. They were breaking the walls and climbing over to the west. _

_Ivan didn't want to go watch. He knew he should be happy that his poverty could start ending now, but it still felt horribly lonely and it seemed like he'd failed. He was trying to become strong, as was always promised to him. But, it was crumbling. _

_The Soviet sat up, dizzy eyes gazing across his bedroom. A red telephone was plugged into a small generator, sitting on his bedside table. It was supposed to be a way to help prevent a nuking before it happened. America had told him to call if he ever needed to talk it out before doing anything rash. _

_It was comforting to know that Alfred was finally being mature about it all. But, it still hurt to fall like this. East Berlin was clearing out, the West Germans were pulling their friends over the wall and helping them break it down. _

_Ivan reached for his liquor, taking a heavy gulp. It didn't taste as good as vodka… But, tonight didn't feel like the sort of night to treat himself to his favorite drink. _

_He just kept staring at that red phone. Now that the wall was gone, would Alfred even pick up? It wasn't like he was a threat anymore...and he wouldn't want to talk to him just for leisure..._

_Why the hell did he even want to talk to America anyway? - Now of all times?_

_He just wanted to set things straight. _

_He wanted the American to know that he didn't do any of this because he was lonely. Half of Europe seemed to think that was the case. Ivan had no reason to worry with stupid emotions like '__**loneliness**__'. He did it because he wanted everyone to be equal. He wanted to get back everything he'd given fighting Germany in the First World War. He wanted his communism to fix the world…to fix **his** world..._

_But…bolshevists were different from communists…and things somehow went wrong. _

_As they always seem to._

…

…

Will dropped the gun, glaring dark daggers into Alfred. He _hated_ being so weak as a human…

Alfred just put on a pale smile and walked into the living room, kicking his shoes off and putting his feet up on the coffee table, making himself utterly at home- as he did everywhere.

"Why the hell are you here?" Will demanded. He wanted to throw a brick at the blonde's head. Maybe he'd get the point and go away.

"I need advice," Alfred said honestly, looking up at his double who had his arms folded firmly over his chest.

The southerner was in a plaid shirt and some cargo shorts. The two looked practically identical besides minor differences like hair color and the way they carried themselves.

Will considered going to his farming shed and putting his soil tiller to good use. "Hm?" he mocked. "You're a big grown-up country now, you don't need my help."

"Grown up?" Alfred demanded. He pushed his hair back and cleared his throat. "Do I _look_ grown up?"

"You're taller than _I_ remember," Will said coldly, summing up his double. They didn't look so much alike anymore. Alfred had grown a few years while Will was forever suspended as that young teenager he'd been before the split. Alfred was almost twenty now and a few inches taller.

Will glared at him. "But, I guess you grew a bit by stabbing me in the back and killing off all your enemies."

"Don't be so cold," Alfred muttered. "I never wanted us to split…there were times over the last century that I could've used your support…"

Will just had his arms folded over his chest. Alfred had never stopped to think about how he grew stronger when his country got more powerful…and adversely weaker as well…

"Do…do you have anything to eat?" Alfred wondered. His head was spinning. He hadn't eaten for a few days besides little pieces of toast or eggs…

Will stared at him incredulously. "You _seriously_ trust anything _I'd_ feed you? It's like you don't see the flaws in your own logic…"

Alfred just rolled his eyes. "As if you'd try and poison me," he muttered.

Will sighed. He silently cursed his true southern roots. It went against the hospitality code to just turn away a guest- especially one that you were once so close to. "Damnit…fine. I was about to have lunch anyway. Fucking Yankee…" he grumbled.

…

Ivan got up from his couch and decided it was time to get back to work. He had current events to keep up with and documents to go over with his boss. He walked into his office and started sorting through the papers on his desk.

His eyes skimmed over the titles of newspapers and notes from his boss. His hand paused…

"**AMERICA, ONCE AGAIN, CONSIDERS RUSSIA AN EQUAL PARTNER"**

Ivan wasn't sure what to make of that. He slid the newspaper free of the stack and sat in his chair. He reached for his reading glasses on the table.

The article just talked about the U.S. and Russian Federation's political relations. It covered the START-1 treaty's expiration date and the work their bosses were doing to prolong the agreement. It talked about the Russian's contract with Iraq to sell weapons to them and how that threatened America. It emphasized the necessity of both countries to come to agreements on arms limitations.

Ivan smirked in seeing that the Americans considered him to be among the next in line to be a superpower, behind China of course.

"They're really trying…" a deep voice spoke in Russian.

"Hm?" Ivan glanced up, taking his glasses off. His door was cracked open and Gorbachev was standing in it with his hands in his pockets. Ivan nodded for him to sit.

The aging politician took a seat and folded his hands in his lap. His head was balding and he wore glasses and a dark suit. "The Americans, I meant," he clarified, still speaking Russian. "Those capitalists never change."

Ivan smirked. "Well, we are a bit capitalist ourselves, are we not?"

Mikhail just smiled. "We are a lot of things now. We have the U.S. and NATO to thank for that." Ivan's expression soured at the mention of NATO. "They're really trying to pull back," Gorbachev assured him.

"Bullshit…" Ivan muttered. "The Bush administration spread their defenses to five more countries…it's like they're setting up to take us down…"

The politician sat back in his chair. "Firstly, you know Alfred better than most. Do you really think he's trying to kill you? Secondly, we have to trust sometimes…we're working to get them to agree to our terms as well and pull their weapons out of the countries closest to us, but these things take time. Thirdly, it's not like _**anyone**_ _wants_ to go to war with anyone. We'll do everything in our power to prevent that."

Ivan just grunted. He knew that Alfred was a bit more mature than trying to egg something on without reason, but he was still just a kid compared to the rest. He kept nosing his way into everyone else's affairs. And one day, that would get him killed. He just needed to worry about defending himself from the people who _actually_ **wanted** to attack him, instead of spreading NATO…

"The west is in trouble, Ivan. We might be encircled now by our satellite countries under the United States and NATO's inner fold, but we're on extremely good terms with China. I believe over the next few years, we should consider our interests in safe hands. Our economies are flourishing."

"Are you saying that we're going directly against the west?" Ivan said innocently. He _really…__**really**_ didn't want to go against Alfred again…he probably couldn't handle such a thing a second time.

The politician leaned forward. "No, of course not. It's as I said. Nobody wants to go to war with anyone. If anything, we can help them get back on their feet. Though, a shift in power would be a lovely thing, we should just worry about our own standing and try to maintain the peace."

Ivan laughed through his nose. "That's always been the goal. But…I doubt we'll ever reach it."

Gorbachev just shrugged and stood, leaning over the desk to pat Ivan's shoulder. "Go through this paperwork. You've been gone for a week too long," he smiled warmly and turned to leave.

Ivan sat back and rubbed his temples. Being a country was often stressful. The friends he chose affected his entire population and the world. Anytime he got into a fight, people's lives were at stake. It was…a lot of pressure.

But, he was also human. He often had a choice. He could remain close friends to Serbia and China as countries, but still work on improving his relations to Alfred.

Gorbachev was right. The west never changed. They would always be greedy, stuck up, bigots. But…they were also giving, protective, individualists. Each human life held immense value to them. America could never stand back and watch a country's leader killing their own people and do nothing about it. He'd use his own resources to protect his interests and other peoples' lives - even if it drove him into the ground.

So, Ivan respected Alfred. He hardly respected America, consider there wasn't much left of it to regard. But, Alfred was still the same.

The people of his country might not care about the past anymore, but it was something Ivan couldn't forget… He wanted it back. He wanted that warmth and a place to go where someone would sympathize or cry with him.

…

_Russian-American Charter, 1799_

_Alfred folded his arms over his chest. Matthew had let him borrow a heavy fur coat, but his face was still freezing over. It hurt to move his lips. "Damn…Matt, I don't understand how you live up here…"_

_The Canadian just rolled his eyes. "I don't usually come this far north," he said calmly. "__**You're**__ the one who wanted to meet him."_

_Alfred huffed, a little cloud of steam escaping his lips. "I'm part of America, aren't I?" he said hotly. "I've met all our other trade partners, I wanna meet him too. It's as simple as that."_

_"I didn't ask why, Alfred. I really don't care. __**You're**__ the one freezing to death…do you need my coat?"_

_His offer was lost in the wind. Matthew was really too soft-spoken. It didn't help that they were standing in the middle of a blizzard on the peninsula Province of Wales- the middle of no-man's land. On a sunny day, you could see Provideniya, in Russia from across the strait. _

_The two countries wouldn't be sharing this part of land, even though it was where the continents were closest to meeting. They owned a bit further south were it was a few degrees warmer. They were just meeting here because it was the shortest trip for the Russian's boat._

_"Oh! Oh, there! He's here!" Alfred cried excitedly, punching his brother's arm repeatedly before running off and tackling the stranger. _

_Matthew winced and rubbed his sore muscle. "One of these days he's gonna get us killed…and I'm not even a country yet…" he groaned._

_Ivan toppled over, thoroughly startled. His Tsar had told him that he had a meeting with a potential trading partner today. They __**didn't**__ tell him that this powerful young nation was only about fourteen or fifteen. Someone like __**this**__ had defeated the British Empire? He was just a teenager…_

_The boy was warm…_

_"I'm Alfred!" he said, thrusting a hand forward and jumping up off the guest, gripping the tall man's hand and helping him up._

_"Здравствуйте__…" Ivan said cordially, bowing his head slightly. _

_Alfred quirked an eyebrow and turned his head. "Hey Mattie!" he shouted abruptly. Ivan didn't see anyone standing there… "What does zdrahstuiteh mean?"_ _Matthew's shoulders dropped. Did Alfred think that was French or something?_

_Ivan just laughed lightly. This new country was amusing… "If you did not understand, you could ask me," he said calmly, patting the kid's head roughly. "I vas telling you 'hello'."_ _Alfred cringed a bit. This guy was pushing on his head too hard…it kinda hurt. But, he wanted to be friends with him. So, an introduction was in order._

_"I own the eastern seaboard of this country, and a bit past the mountains. George Washington is my current President. I won my independence from Great Britain and hope to claim the lands to the west of what I have now…um…what else," he tapped his chin. He'd been counting things off on his hands thus far, trying to remember all the points he was supposed to introduce himself with. "Let's go to Mattie's cabin, it's cold here…" he said instead._

_…_

_Alfred kicked off his knee-high boots and shucked his coat off while Matthew lit a fire. Ivan looked around the place, gathering his bearings. _

_It was a small cabin; the walls were made of brick and wood, and were covered in furs for insulation. A large table was cut and unpolished in the middle of the one-room structure. There was a small cabinet with some jars of meat and jams. It was warm inside. _

_"So!" Alfred said, turning and putting his hands on his hips. "You wanna trade with us?"_

_Ivan just quirked an eyebrow. As if these kids had a choice… Still, the older one seemed to think he had everything under his control, so he might as well give him that satisfaction. "Да, I vould like that very much," he said, smiling brightly at Alfred._

_The American just lifted himself up onto the table and kicked his feet back and forth, his baggy wool socks dangling loosely at his feet. "Well, you talk funny, but I suppose I can forgive it," he said with a grin. He held his hand out. "Partners?"_

_"Um…Al…you __**do**__ realize that it'll be __**me**__ who does the trading, right?" Mattie said hesitantly. He was promptly ignored. "Right?"_

_The Russian shook Alfred's hand and gave the most pleasant smile he could to the hyperactive kid. It was refreshing to meet someone so young that didn't immediately start trembling at the sight of him…_

…

Ivan wasn't sure if the American was stupid, if he was _that_ bad at reading the mood, or if he really believed in their 'friendship', but Alfred never _ever_ shied away from Ivan. Even when the Russian's dark 'killing aura' was the strongest. Alfred was too thick to run away like the others.

And, Ivan appreciated it. Nobody likes being feared by everyone. It gets old. Everyone wants someone to genuinely understand them instead of being shallow and just running away. It's nice to have someone you can't scare away…

There was a sudden banging at the door. The handle jerked down and Iceland pushed in. His face was red and he braced himself against the doorframe. "Guð, ég hatur hlaupandi…" he panted.

* * *

><p><em>Author notedisclaimer, IGNORE THE ELLUDED POLITICAL BELIEFS! _

_I'm American, so I'm totally used to putting out any of my opinions. I know that Mededev is the current president and Putin is leading in the next race, but I'm not trying to sway opinions. _

_I'm starting to like Obama I think. He's done a lot in Iraq to change how we're fighting. He's working hard to befriend the Russian Federation, get the economy in order, reduce horrible government overspending, and pay off our debt to China. Unfortunately, these things are going to take years to complete, and I'm afraid that the new president we get in 2012 will go back on a lot of the advances he's putting up just because they're not popular with the public…because Obama's not popular with the public…_

_As for my using Gorbachev. It's only a short little blib I'm including. I don't plan to use him again…_

_Did I mention I'm only 15? (as of a few days ago)_

_Yeah, I'm gonna run for president when I grow up. So, gotta keep informed. XD_

* * *

><p>Icelandic Translation-<p>

Guð, ég hatur hlaupandi- God, I hate running.


	23. Personal Politics

_If anyone ever has any questions, please ask. I'm sorry if this fic gets confusing with all the politics and history…_

_I apologize for the wait. I've held onto half of this for a few days and decided to finish it tonight…but I get distracted easily. At least this chapter is kinda long._

* * *

><p>Songs-<p>

'Who Is It- by Björk

'New Low' by Middle Class Rut

'Studying Politics' by Emery

* * *

><p>Ivan just stared at the Nordic that had randomly intruded on his reading. "Добрый день, льдов," he said, smiling and being friendly.<p>

"Hm?" Emil grunted, straightening out his tie and pulling his gloves off. "Oh…um… Дa, Рад Вас видеть."

Ivan just giggled a little. Iceland was so cute. He'd learned some Russian. The Nordics were always very good with languages.

Russia's relations to the little volcanic island- and NATO member- had increased greatly over the last few years.

Iceland's economy had collapsed when three of his major banks were suddenly three times larger than before from large, rich investors placing all their money in them. The banks used the money, printing it into Icelandic marks. But, the investors withdrew their money, and the banks couldn't repay what they had borrowed…and they went into bankruptcy.

It didn't help that the Prime Minister stepped down at about the same time when he fell ill with cancer. The government was failing and the economy was plummeting.

Emil became deathly sick and almost had to sell himself to the EU for support… That was the _last_ thing he wanted after only _just_ gaining independence from Denmark seventy years ago.

But, Russia knocked on his door one morning. Norge answered it for him. Emil's brother was taking care of him personally- not financially. But, Ivan offered his financial support with that perfect, creepy smile in place. He gave Iceland the European equivalent of just over two-hundred-million dollars aid.

And, to Europe's dismay, Emil accepted hesitantly.

It wasn't just beneficial to Iceland to be bailed out by the Russian Federation. It also meant that Russia was trampling over the exclusive ties that America held with the NATO member and creating a friendship with him. (And it wasn't like Russia's economy couldn't spare a few hundred-million)

Emil understood Russia's ulterior motives, but he chose to accept the kindness anyway. He was too sick to be any more than weary of the Russians. Being bailed out by a former enemy was better than having your independence sold out to the EU.

"_Why are you here, Ice?_" Ivan asked, speaking Russian.

Emil stepped in and shut the door behind himself. He sat in the leather desk chair that Gorbachev had just inhabited. He folded his hands together and tried to come up with a way to word what he had to say. With things like this, it was usually best to be blunt.

"_I want you to bail out America," _he said finally.

Ivan just quirked an eyebrow and wore an amused grin. "_I can't do that…you know this. Did you forget that he owes __**me**__ money as well?_"

Emil's hands clenched tightly. Alfred and Ivan always stiffed each other, gave cold shoulders, lied to each others' faces, and avoided certain conversations. He was tired of having two of his closest friends bickering around him so often.

Iceland never got involved in _anything_. But…this. This was just out of hand. Even if his country would sit back placidly, Emil wanted to do _something_.

"_I know…_" he said carefully. He wasn't sure what he wanted from Ivan…or how he would convince him to help. "_I…um…"_

The Russian gave a knowing smirk. "_You have been spending too much time with Alfred if you just ran out her so rashly…did you actually have something to say to me?_"

Emil glared at him. He hated being smirked at as if he was some ignorant child. Denmark did that _all the time_. And Norway never treated him like an adult. He was a thousand years old as a country! He was technically _older_ than even Ivan!

"_Of course I've got something to say!_" he snapped_. "I wouldn't just fly over here and run three miles to find you if I didn't have a reason! I want you to help America!_"

Ivan exhaled slowly, folding his hands and nestling his chin on the support. "_I cannot loan him money that he already owes me._"

"_Then don't give him money!"_

_"How else am I supposed to help him?"_

A hand slammed down on the table. _"Tell him what you want from him!"_

Ivan just sat back in his chair. He'd forgotten how explosive Emil was. He was usually so cold and quiet that one could easily forget that his country was almost one giant volcano waiting to erupt.

But, what exactly was he asking for? "_And by this you mean that I should make a deal with him…? Like how? Have him sell me weapons to make money or something?"_

The pale teen rubbed his eyes in exhaustion. He was physically shaking from running so far. "Fjandinn, ÉG þörf a cola…" he muttered to himself. He was in no mood for Ivan's 'innocence'. "_No, I don't think it's a good idea for you two to keep on with these weapons…" _he said, switching back to Russian.

Ivan just waited for him to elaborate.

_"Alfred's had a nightmare every night since he left that hotel room. He's not afraid of you, but in every dream, you shot him in the head and a riot killed his political leaders. If he's going to fix his economy, he needs to stop focusing on what you and China are doing over here. You need to tell him that you don't want to kill him…"_

Ivan stared past the Nordic, at the wall, darkly. "_And what if I __**do**__…want to kill him…?"_

_"You don't."_

_"Hm?"_ Ivan hummed, curiously.

"_You can't let the past go. You want things to go back to how they were before the revolution. I don't know about your people, but I know that __**you**__ do."_

Ivan just looked away. "_Have I ever told you that I hate when you visit?_" he spoke in Russian, giving a creepy smile.

Emil quickly reminded himself that he was a grown up, and he didn't want to run home and hide under Norge's bed for a week… "_Whatever you do, I've made my view clear. America, China, and the Russian Federation need to work closely as the world's most powerful nations. There should be no exclusive government alliances and there should definitely be an understanding between you and Alfred. Get on it._"

The Icelander rose to his feet and slipped his gloves back on. He'd had enough socialization for a few months by now. He had every intentions of leaving until Ivan spoke again behind him.

_"Where is Alfred now? Who is watching over him?"_

"Ah…" Emil completely forgot to call someone to come in his stead. He'd left Alfred with his crazy confederate counterpart…

..

…

"Really? Fried chicken and corn?" Alfred teased lightly. "You're so southern." He sat at the table nonetheless, adjusting the shoulder bag he'd carried in with him.

Will sent him a glare. "What did you expect from me?" he said shortly.

Alfred stabbed his fork into his corn cob and rolled some butter onto it. He ate loudly, but Will was no better. Alfred was starting to feel a bit better, so his economy must be on another rise. He was getting tired of all the yo-yoing lately.

"Do you have Old Bay?" he asked, cutting into his chicken.

Will closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath. "No, Alfred. We don't eat Old Bay down here. I've got Season All if you want some spice or something."

Alfred just pouted. "Season All is like the Old Bay for wussies…" he whined.

Will ground his knife down into the plate, digging it into the delicate painted porcelain. "Don't…don't go there, Alfred. I'll pull the soda card."

"What? How all the good sodas were invented down here? I thought I already credited you for that? I'm just saying Old Bay is manlier. It's got fucking _mace_ in it."

Will closed his eyes, "Yes, because eating mace makes perfect sense."

"Hey, I've seen a cop do it in D.C. It was the most badass thing I ever saw. He whipped his pepper-spray out and sprayed it in his mashed potatoes and started eating it."

Will fought back the urge to agree. He hated being just as American as Alfred. "That _can't_ be healthy," he said instead.

"Mhmm…I'm sure it's not," Alfred agreed. "But, as I was asking before…do you have any advice. I need to get our country out of debt…"

"Why would I help you?" Will said coldly. "I'll help by assuring you I'll take over if you die."

Alfred's smile fell, "I don't want to die, Will!"

"Shut up. You have to fix your own ways. Start supporting yourself before you rush out and help everyone else. Understand? That's all I'll say to help you."

Alfred nodded, and they both ate in silence for awhile until someone rang at the doorbell. Alfred continued eating as if he hadn't noticed, so Will got up to answer it.

"Goddamnit, you fucking Yankee! Why the hell are you bringing all your crooked-ass British friends over? I thought we got rid of him two hundred years ago?" he shouted, loading a new rifle. "It's bad enough putting up with you!"

"Nononono! Don't kill Iggy! He's cool!" Alfred cried, slamming his chair back and running to wrestle the gun out of Will's hand.

The Brit just stepped inside calmly and closed the door behind himself. "Hm…still fighting with yourself?" he mused, watching Alfred trying to bend his double's gun.

"Don't fucking break another rifle!" Will shouted, slamming his forehead into Alfred's.

The northerner saw stars for a moment. He shook his head to clear his vision, to find himself staring down the barrel of the rifle he'd just been fighting over. Will kicked a door open to the basement.

"Aww…you got a puppy~!" Alfred said, bending over to pet the hound dog that came running up the stairs.

"Not a house pet," Will warned, as the dog growled, lips curling up over his sharp teeth.

"Shit!" Arthur cursed, running for the back door.

Alfred just forced a laugh and followed the Brit's example, high-tailing for the exit. He passed England quickly, flailing his arms wildly. He just had to run faster than Arthur, and he'd be safe.

"Wanker!" the Brit shouted as Alfred passed him. The dog jumped up over his head and touched down behind Alfred. "What the fuck?" Arthur cried as the dog sailed over him.

It latched onto Alfred's leg, bringing the American down quickly. Alfred was screaming and flailing. How had the dog caught him? And why was it targeting him?

Will's stoic expression remained in place as he stood on the doorstep to his fenced-in backyard. How had this idiot won the Civil War? Will had trained his favorite hunting hound to bite anything with Alfred's scent on it. He was glad he had now. This was amusing.

"GEDDITOFFGEDOFF!" Alfred screamed, kicking at the dog. It just growled.

Arthur dashed forward, reaching at his belt, "Stop squirming!" he shouted at the American and Alfred paused for a second. Arthur brought out his taser.

…

"How is it that, every time I see you, something utterly retarded and overly climatic happens?" Arthur demanded, holding a damp towel to Alfred's bleeding thigh.

The American laughed weakly. "I wonder that every day. At least you don't have to live with me."

"Hm…" Arthur grunted. "Seriously…what kind of dogs can fly?"

"The southern kind."

The Brit grunted again and dipped the towel back into the bucket of hose water. Will had locked them in the back yard after retrieving his unconscious dog. Arthur had stolen a towel off the dryer line in the back yard where the confederate was drying his laundry.

At least it was cooling off as the sun went down. They'd been out here a few hours, trying to get Alfred's leg to stop bleeding.

Arthur had tried to escape the fence to get his car running once, but the hound was awake again, and it always came after him. He couldn't run fast enough. Will owned other dogs too…

"I didn't know you carried a taser, Iggy?" Alfred said after a few minutes of silence, grinning as if he had some incriminating information.

Arthur just scoffed. "It's for Francis."

Alfred's grin faded. That wasn't very much fun. Iggy always knew how to give the most boring answers. He was such a fun-killer. "Oh, just fuck him already," Alfred joked. "He'd probably leave you alone once he realized you suck in bed."

Arthur just smacked the American across the forehead with the wet towel. He didn't need to know anything about his relationship with Francis. Or about how the Frenchman wouldn't leave him alone now that they had an underwater tunnel connecting their countries…

"Francis is beside the point, Alfred. I came here to ask how you've been," the Brit said seriously. He'd been concerned for Alfred's recent health- but he'd never admit it. He still cared a lot for America- even if it wasn't really reciprocated anymore.

The American just shrugged, leaning back against the fence. "I've been better. My economy keeps yo-yoing and sometimes I'll feel like shit and other times I'm perfectly fine."

"You've…lost a lot of weight," Arthur noted. The American's face had lost its fullness and he looked thinner than necessary.

Alfred just hummed. "I can't hold much down right now. Food doesn't agree with me. It's really depressing. I'm dying for some fries…"

"Well, you do deserve this, you know?" Arthur said stiffly. "You've been overspending on things you don't need; wasting money, energy, and resources; overeating; and borrowing money that you shouldn't be using in the first place. It was going to come back at you eventually."

"Way to be sympathetic, Artie…" Alfred moaned. The last thing he wanted was his best friend telling him that he had it coming.

Arthur looked up at the American. They had a lot of history together. A lot of good history recently, but there was a lot of anger and hatred buried in the past. Arthur was doing his best to mend his relations to Alfred, but the American made it so difficult.

"And Iraq? Are you almost done there? I don't want another terrorist trying to use me as a launch pad to attack you. Do you know how stressful you are?"

Alfred rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. "Um…thanks for that. But, in my defense, I kept trying to convince you to just go and arrest them. You wouldn't do it until Pakistan had arrested their leader…then you had no choice…so…"

Arthur glared, smacking the American with the towel again. "I was gathering evidence!"

"Yeah…okay. You already had enough to put them in prison for life," Alfred countered.

It was growing dark already. Will lived in the countryside, secluded on his own farm. So, the stars were already visible with no light pollution.

Arthur chose not to retort this time. Alfred's gaze had already drifted up to the sky sadly. "The shuttle is touching down today…" he mumbled.

Arthur felt no sympathy. He wasn't much of one for space travel; at least, not to the level that the American was. He wasn't very good at saying what was on his mind, so he just stood there quietly and let Alfred talk to himself.

"I guess it's alright…Ivan will still send my astronauts up there if I need it… I still hate this though. I had plans, you know?" he said, dipping his head back down to look at the Brit. "Do you know what it's like to have so much laid out for you and have so much planned, and just having it ripped out from under you?"

Arthur just sighed.

Alfred's blue gaze drifted back down, toward Will's house. There was a light on upstairs.

So much had changed over the last two hundred years. They'd gone from shooting muskets and doing laundry in a wooden tub by the river, to bombing terrorists with unmanned drones and having automatic hand-towel dispensers. Things had become simpler and so much more complex.

"But…" Alfred said, contemplating what he wanted to say. "I…I think things will get better. They always get better. After all, I've done this before. I pulled through the great depression and returned the balance of power to Europe again, and I can do it again. No problem…"

…

...

Ivan walked in quick strides; his shoes digging into the gravel drive way. A pack of dogs came barking and growling up the driveway as the two nations approached the house. Ivan just kicked one out of the way and the rest scampered off, whimpering.

Emil was almost jogging to keep up. The Icelander just wanted to go home at this point, but the Russian was giving off a murderous aura with that creepy grin across his face. (And the Nordic didn't feel like being kicked like that dog)

Ivan knocked curtly on the front door of the white country-house. He rocked back on his heels impatiently as he waited for the door to open.

Inside, a dog growled and barked until its master moved it to open the door. Will wore a blank expression; the only sign of agitation was a slight twitch of eyebrow. "What do you want?" he demanded.

"I'd like to see America," Ivan said, smiling politely- creepily.

Will hardly noticed the Russian's dark aura. He just pushed his dog aside and let them in. There wasn't much he could do to get these damn countries to go away at this point. Besides, if he remembered correctly, Alfred hated this guy. "He's out back making out with his little boyfriend," the confederate said cockily, jabbing a thumb to point the 'guests' in the proper direction.

Ivan's eyes narrowed in a skin-splitting grin. He wouldn't let anyone see if that had hurt him or not. He only needed one guess as to who was in the backyard with his American. And, he planned on strangling that skinny neck.

He opened the back door, stepping outside with a smile. Originally, he'd had every intention of coming here just to retrieve Alfred and make sure he was safe. But now...he sort of wanted to kill something.

Emil stood back, looking on anxiously with a calm façade. This wouldn't end well. It didn't take a genius to realize that.

Ivan walked through the well-manicured lawn to the end of the gate. On the other side, miles of farmland stretched out in the dark. The porch light was kicked on, illuminating the yard well enough to see two figures lying on the grass. Ivan just leaned over the relaxing American, smiling darkly. "Добрый вечер."

Alfred's eyes shot open. His head was propped up on his arms up over his shoulders. He scrambled up. "Ivan!" He smiled. He'd been hoping that the Russian would visit!

Arthur sat up as well, groaning. "Why the hell are _you_ here?" he demanded sourly. He'd been expecting more shit. He was in the presence of _Alfred_ after all. But, seeing Ivan again was the _last_ thing he'd wanted- especially when he was finally getting to spend time one-on-one with the American.

Ivan gave the Brit a sweet smile. "I'll be borrowing Alfred now." He grabbed the American's wrist and pulled him up roughly.

"What the fuck?" Alfred snapped, trying to tug his wrist away. He didn't like that. It wasn't in his nature to allow himself to be man-handled.

Ivan just gripped it tighter so the circulation numbed. Alfred dug the nails on his other hand into the Russian's fist. Ivan grabbed that hand and tried to tug it off. They both glared daggers.

Arthur stood, trying to rip the Russian off Alfred.

"Stay out of it Artie," Alfred drawled, eyes linked to Ivan's in a cruel trance, mouth twisted up into an amused smirk. "Go start the car…" he demanded.

"You Git! I'm your ally! I'm not-"

"Go Arthur!" Alfred snapped darkly.

The British man didn't speak. He hated allowing the American to speak to him in that tone. He had much more experience with fighting matters. But, whether or not he deserved it, Alfred had the strongest military, so Arthur had no room to argue. But, he wasn't leaving. He just folded his arms defiantly and stepped back.

Alfred ignored his presence and let a string of curses out at the Russian. "What the hell are you doing? You can't just grab me like a fucking ragdoll and sling me around like you think you're in control!" He shifted his weight to stand on his good leg.

"Vhy are you here?" Ivan demanded. "You vere to be in the hospital in D.C. Go back until your recession ends."

"Don't tell me what to do."

"Don't be such a child. Do as I say," Ivan growled.

"What the hell?" the American snarled. "You're not my boss. Even my boss doesn't tell me what to do like that. Leave!"

"Nyet" Ivan said coldly. "Vhat are you doing here? Back to fucking your mother again are you? Your economy so bad that you are whoring yourself out for spare change?"

The sound of Alfred's palm smacking into the Russian's cheek resonated over the fields. Arthur stepped back another space.

The American was trembling with rage now. "Where the fuck do you get off, coming here and being a complete douche-bag! Why the hell are you here?"

Ivan recovered from the slap easily. It was comparatively painless. "I vas concerned for your well-being. But, I come here and you're in the backyard getting back vith your brother again."

"The fuck you talkin about?" Alfred demanded. "England and I are-" he stopped. Ivan was balling his fists. He seemed pissed off. The American could read this much. But, why would he get so upset over such a misconstruction? Was he… "Oh my God…you're fucking jealous…" Alfred muttered, snickering.

His knee suddenly gave out. Ivan kicked it in and tripped the American over. "Take that back," the Russian snarled, fake smile gone now.

Alfred just laughed, picking himself up from the ground. "God, I know I'm hot and all, but damn. You must really like me to get jealous of _Iggy~"_ He fake swooned at the Brit's name. Arthur just stared on in disbelief at what was happening.

"You had better be lying about all of this," Ivan said smartly, weaving his fingers together and cracking his knuckles menacingly.

Alfred laughed, not quite getting the physical threat. "Lying? Why would I lie? As if I _want_ to make you jealous! Just ask Artie!" He glanced over at the Brit. "Arthur!" he shouted. "Hey, you're fucking head-over-heels for me, aren't you?" he teased.

Arthur balled his fists and utilized his vast knowledge of sailor's curses, but his face was flushed deep red. Francis teased him all the time for his 'attachment to his former colony...old emotions die hard. The Britt missed the sixties, but he had Francis for that now...

Alfred grinned and jabbed his thumb to England. "Y'see?"

Ivan threw the first punch, ramming his arm into the American's gut. Alfred coughed and bashed his head into the Russian's. Ivan gripped his hair and jerked his neck backwards until he heard a crack. The American kneed him in the groin with his good leg, grinding his knee. The Russian keeled over and ripped his nails down Alfred's bare arm, drawing blood.

They became a blur of clawing, punching, kicking, and cursing. Arthur and Emil couldn't do much but stand back and try not to get in their way…

"Ёб твой мать!" Ivan shouted furiously, his voice darkening and scratching in his throat.

"Mantenerse fuera de mi vida!"

* * *

><p>Translations- there's a lot this time<p>

Добрый день, льдов- Good afternoon, Iceland.

Дa, Рад Вас видеть- Yes, nice to see you.

Fjandinn ÉG þörf a cola- Damn, I need a cola.

Добрый вечер- Good evening.

Ёб твой мать- Go fuck your mother

Mantenerse fuera de mi vida- Stay out of my life

* * *

><p><em>Sorry about the language, but they <em>_**do**__ fight like adults…and it doesn't take much to set them off, huh?_

_All you lurkers who subscribe to this story or have it under favorites should review. I'd love to hear what you think. _

_I'm so grateful for the support everyone's given me on this. I've got people teaching me how to read Cyrillic, giving me blurbs of history, correcting my grammar without even being a beta, and offering help with culture differences. You're all amazing. I wouldn't keep writing if I didn't have such a great response. _

_I love you people. I wish I could meet you all, that would be so cool. _

_And don't worry too much. They'll make up. I've got it all planned out~_

_Review PLEASE~!_


	24. Canadian Bakin'

_Oh, this chapter is sort of depressing in the beginning, but it gets funny…so…um, just hang on._

**_Warning- there's some FrUK and some Can-US if you squint. _**

**_Also, some recreational use of illegal drugs. (Maybe that should've been first?) _**

**_Also, i didn't proofread at all...so...i'm sorry._**

* * *

><p><span>Songs-<span>

'Look What You've Done'- by Jet. (I loved this song since I was eight. LISTEN)

'Have no Fear'- by Birdyork

'Such as it Ends'- by Ludo

'70 million'- by Hold Your Horses

* * *

><p>It was only the first day of August.<p>

The world meeting was probably more awkward than any of the previous ones- this year at least. It was missing the endearing scraps and bickering that everyone had grown so used to. All the European nations were just as sick as Alfred, whose condition had declined again this week.

It was August now, so the American had to present some sort of plan to pay off his debt. His bosses had been arguing and debating it for the past few months, but they had finally come to an agreement. President Obama had given his speech last week, talking about his cuts to government spending to raise the debt ceiling so they wouldn't default. It was only a temporary fix.

Alfred rubbed his eyes, dipping his glasses down on his nose slightly to get past them. He yawned and curled his fingers around a cup of black coffee. It was too early to worry about sugar and creamer, he wanted straight caffeine. It didn't help that he hadn't slept much this week.

He'd tried going to Russia last Friday. He knocked on the door, and Ivan opened the curtain over the window, but not the door. He just stood there solemnly, staring back through the glass, holding an aged photograph of the two of them. He held it up so Alfred could see just how old it was, and how long he must've held onto it. Then, he slowly ripped it in half so that the side with the American was completely severed from his half.

Alfred remembered cringing, but he just forced an apathetic shrug and moved back to his car. He was lying every time he pretended he could handle this. He was slowly losing _everything_. It would be nice to know that at least he'd fixed things with Russia...

No matter how hurt Ivan looked while he did it, he'd ripped apart whatever held the two them together for the last century. And, Alfred almost wanted to cry when he thought about it.

The Russian hadn't arrived at the monthly World Summit yet. Alfred didn't know how he would handle it when Ivan showed up. The American just looked around at the countries already present.

Greece and Poland seemed to be hit the hardest. Greece was sleeping with obvious difficulty breathing. Poland just sat quietly, hands gripping a bag to vomit in…just in case. Spain and the Italians looked a little queasy, and Germany was being as calm as possible so as not to upset his recent vertigo, but he'd been pretty healthy recently. The Baltics seemed alright for the most part, just a little dizzy. The Nordics were silent, even Denmark didn't seem willing to do much.

Francis was sitting stiffly while Arthur tried to talk to him. The Frenchman didn't seem to be listening, or even acknowledging the Brit's presence, which only served to make Arthur more frantic to get his attention. It had just been _weird_ to go so long without the lewd advances- n-not that Arthur _liked_ being pursued. Francis must have heard the rumor about England and the United States…

The only one who seemed _truly_ healthy was China. And, he was wearing a calm, smug expression. He wasn't the type to rub it in people's faces, but he really _did_ feel a bit of pride at the current situation.

Alfred watched the door uneasily, but the clock ticked on and Germany stood, calling the meeting to begin.

America gave his speech, highlighting his spending cuts and setting up a chart to show how he'd split up his resources. It saddened him how he had to neglect crucial things like his crumbling infrastructure just to pull his debt back up.

...

After the meeting, Matthew chased the American down. Alfred didn't notice him at first, but the Canadian started talking about defaulting, and America's attention snapped into focus.

"If you default…I'm going down with you," Matthew said sadly.

Alfred sighed. If he defaulted, half the _world_ would go down with him… "I know Mattie. I'm raising the debt ceiling…I'm working on it. We're not going anywhere…"

The Canadian nodded, gripping his brother's shoulder tightly. "I know you're trying, but…just don't fail us." His tone was so strained and urgent. He'd grown paler and thinner just like the American. "You make up one-fifth of the world's wealth and seventy-five percent of _my_ foreign trade…This is important…don't you dare default tomorrow…" There was no real malice in his demand, just sadness.

Alfred closed his eyes and collapsed against the wall as his brother left him standing there, alone in the hallway. He rubbed a hand across his cheek, pulling his eyes open. He groaned silently.

He was tired of everyone telling him he had failed them. He was trying as hard as he could…

It didn't help him feel better when he was watching the Comedy channel to calm his nerves and his favorite comedy reporter, Steven Colbert was reading off 'America's Bucket list'. It _was_ funny though, including things like invading Iran and getting a tattoo of a Chinese kanji on Florida. Alfred burst out laughing when Colbert told him to, _'Finally just do it with Canada. The tension's been building for years. I'm talking crazy-last night on earth- grabbing boarders, slapping Rockies, halving French, no eye-contact, eating Poutine out of each other's Great Lakes- nastiness…"_

Everyone on earth was counting him out. Even a lot of his own people had fear of losing the superpower status that he'd strived off of for so long. If he lost all his power…he'd lose his ability to bring justice to the African and Middle Eastern countries.

But, that wasn't even what was bothering him at the moment. A lot of people in other countries wanted rid of him. He'd seen videos on Youtube, directly threatening the United States. A lot of them were just crazy wack-jobs living in Serbia or Russia and didn't reflect the nation's feeling as a whole. But, Alfred knew better than anyone the power of a bunch of crazy people with a real hatred.

What if the United States ceased to exist? What if China or North Korea attacked him while he was down like this? His military was well-equipped and well-trained, but under-funded.

American's were notorious for building up militias on short notice. If anything, Americans were patriotic and would fight for their country. But, if - for some reason- China changed his mind about the United States and attacked, there simply wouldn't be enough _people_ to hold them back…

Alfred groaned again, sliding down against the wall and curling up tightly on the floor. The hallway was clear so no one would see. He buried his face in his hands and held back a sob. His skin had gone from a lightly glowing tan to a sickly grey color. He felt weaker and weaker every day. He trembled slightly. More than anything, he was just scared.

He didn't want to die…

…

…

Ivan was sick of shredding newspapers. But, there was still a small stack of headlines left. Anything with the seven-letter 'A' word on it, or the two-word 'U''S' title needed to be destroyed.

The Russian wasn't even sure why he was so mad. He'd gone hunting for sport over the weekend, just to have the satisfaction of killing something. He just imagined large bushy eyebrows on the deer and raccoons, and it made it somehow fulfilling to shoot them between the eyes.

It shouldn't be affecting him like this. He hadn't been so pissed off at the American since 1991 when he'd first met him after forming the Russian Federation. Alfred had called him a 'Fucking phoenix' and laughed at him for being a teenager again.

But, he'd grown back up again and Alfred had redeemed himself.

But now…

Who knows what was going on now? Their _countries_ were still getting along well enough, but Ivan wanted nothing to do with Alfred. He didn't even go to the World Summit, just to avoid him. Today was the day Alfred would give his deficit speech.

Ivan rose from his desk and moved his trash can, filled with shredded papers, aside so he could get up.

He walked out into his foyer. The two halves of that picture he'd torn up three days ago were still lying dejectedly by the front window. The Russian leaned over slowly to pick them up.

It was an _old_ picture that he'd spent a lot of time preserving so it wouldn't crumble to ashes. He'd probably had it since the 1880s. He'd hid it from Stalin throughout both world wars.

Just a picture, really. It just had him and Alfred, facing each other and smiling. It wasn't custom to smile for photographs at the time, but America insisted they look happy.

Ivan lined the halves up so that they were facing away from each other as if they were smiling off in separate directions. The thought of Alfred grinning for everyone else and never again for him…

The Russian found himself tearing the two halves up into shreds now.

No…he didn't _want_ this. But, what could he do? America loved England. Just like the last century. And, Ivan was falling back into his old ruts, just pushing the American into Arthur's arms…

Ivan turned and punched the wall. His hand smashed through the plaster and he cursed himself silently in his native tongue. He'd have to get that fixed later. It was a good thing nobody was watching…

…

…

"Alfred? Why're you still here?" a soft voice said. A foot nudged the American in the side.

America sat up, rubbing his stiff neck. "Ugh. Canada? Why haven't you gone home?"

"I had to talk to Francis…" Matt said cryptically.

Alfred just groaned, gripping the wall and pulling himself up. A strong arm gripped his wrist and helped him. The Canuck might be a bit tired and sore from his economy, but he was still strong enough to lift the light American.

"You okay Al?" Matt posed. "You look tired. Did you sleep last night?"

"I got five hours…I think. I'm just stressed…" the American grumbled.

Matthew grinned. "I know how to fix that…I don't do this often, but…you should come to my place…"

…

"You wanna know what I think?" Matthew laughed, stretching his back out over the side of his beaten old couch like a cat. His eyes were rolling around languidly, not really focusing. Alfred just grunted from where he was sitting across the small room, and by small room, of course they were in a shoe closet with the door barricaded. "Hm. _I_ think that Serbia, Russia, and China are having a hot threesome…and they're just not telling you…"

Alfred growled something unintelligible. He didn't want to think about Ivan getting with Yao again...

Matthew just laughed, sitting up and digging his knees into the couch cushions. Some people might think it odd that he had furniture in his shoe closet, but this was the best place to smoke a joint. "I also think you're being too uptight," he teased.

Alfred pouted. "All three of them hate me. And…" he sighed, vision swirling. "That would be so fucking hot…they wouldn't even let me watch…"

Matthew took a puff from his self-made weed-cigar and pulled his brother up by the collar to breathe the smoke in his face. "You can always just imagine it…" he drawled.

Alfred just laughed, swatting the hazy air. "Heh~ We're such pervs…"

"We should get out of here…" Matthew suggested. He was starting to hallucinate. The room felt way too hot. It would catch on fire if he didn't get out.

"Hey, Mattie…I bet I can turn my eyelids inside out…" Alfred mumbled, contemplating. He reached up for his face and poked one of his eyes tenderly.

"Fuck dude, that'd be so cool!" the Canadian mused, completely forgetting the raging imaginary fire. "Do it!"

Alfred peeled his eyelids and rolled them up, but they fell back down. So, he tried again. It didn't seem to be working, and his eyes were watering pretty badly. Still, it felt like his eyes were falling out, and it was kinda cool.

Matthew jumped as something hopped up against the wall. The fire was completely gone now- for some reason. He stood up and moved his coats aside to see what had moved. "I found a frog!"

"France is in here?" Alfred giggled.

"No, a _real_ frog!" Matthew said.

"Well, what's it doing in here? Get it out~!"

The Canadian just shrugged and leaned forward, grabbing up the slimy animal. It felt boney and skinny, with too much goo, so Matthew just threw it as hard as he could. It splattered into the wall with a sickening 'thud'.

Alfred just jumped up and fist-pumped. "That was so fucking cool~!" he cried.

Matthew grinned and jumped up to high-five his brother before sitting back down.

They both started when the door suddenly exploded. Alfred jumped over the couch and ducked behind the wood and cushion. Matthew just trembled where he sat, trying to disappear- and probably succeeding.

Arthur stood in the doorway, waving the smoke away with his hand calmly. He'd just opened the door to find two of his former charges trembling on a couch and baking in the Canadian's closet…

-and was that a dead frog smeared to the wall? …The hell?

The Britt sighed and rubbed his temple. "Alfred. You _do_ realize that you're breaking your own law…?"

The American's head popped back up over the couch. That door had just fucking _exploded_! It must've been England's doing… "Arthur! God, you're so badass!"

The Brit decided not to accept a compliment from someone who was '_tripping balls'_. "Never mind…I came here to talk to Canada. You seen him?"

"I'm right here…" the quiet voice said, giggling a little that no one ever saw him- because it seemed _humorous_ at the moment. "Why you looking for me? Did I win a prize?"

"Um…no," Arthur said, raising a massive eyebrow. He brushed his collar down primly. "I came to thank you for speaking to Francis for me. It turned out that he was just feeling sick and wasn't actually upset at me. He came to tell me that after you talked to him. But, it's appreciated nonetheless."

Matthew just waved his hand dismissively. "T'was no problem~" he said casually. He reached for his cigar and held it out. "Y'want some?"

"Um. No, I'll pass."

"Ugh, you've got another stick up your ass, Artie~!" Alfred exclaimed, laughing at his elder.

The Brit's face flushed and he snatched the cigar from Matthew's hand. He'd show them. He'd done drugs _**twenty**_-_times_ worse than their 'weed'. But…still, that had been the eighteen-hundreds…that was different.

He accepted the joint, took a quick drag, and closed the door.

Alfred patted his back. "That's better, right~?"

Arthur just narrowed his eyes at the touch. "I'll kick you in the knee," he muttered.

* * *

><p><em>Yeah! I like the 'bro-fist' type of usuk. Not the smut. Eww…pedoteleiophelia-incest. Yucky~_

_Isn't Canada adorable when he's high~_

_Um...for the record, i don't support drug use. I actually enjoy making fun of people who are stupid enough to get themselves addicted... I know, i'm a mean person. __I laughed so hard at some of the videos I used when researching the effects of Weed…wow…_

_I've got school starting tomorrow, so I won't update as often. I've gotta keep my grades up and work around the community more to get recognized by our state senator and get a letter of recommendation for West Point. I WANT THIS SO BAD!_

_Please Review~?_


	25. Пофиг

_**FACT: **__America NEVER calls England 'Iggy' in the original comic strips, however France does once or twice. _

_This chapter has more graphic war scenes. It's one huge flashback, so I'm not italicizing the whole thing…I'm just trying to show some of the emotions in their past that explain their difficulty communicating in the present._

_I'm sorry it took so long to get this out. I've been working on my books. I'm supposed to send it to the publisher in January, and I'm not even half-way done proofreading. It's kinda sad actually. _

_I also get distracted really easily. It's shameful, but I've spent most of my writing time watching "Clara Sheller" on Youtube. (It's my guilty pleasure) DAMN YOU FRENCH FOR MAKING INTERESTING DRAMAS! I never even liked dramas before! But Gilles and JP are so cute!_

* * *

><p>Songs-<p>

'Again'- by Archive

'Thanks for the Memories'- by Fall Out Boy

'Pet'- by Perfect Circle

* * *

><p><span>January 1934<span>

Ivan stepped over broken shards of glass, his feet crackling loudly over the broken window pieces. He glanced down at his feet, forcing a small smile and swiveled his foot on his ankle, rubbing it in the glass. It was a cute sound.

This had once been a church. It was hard to tell that now. But, religion couldn't exist in the worker's paradise. Religion promoted too many useless things, like morals and human rights.

The walls were burnt and blackened over the white paint. The huge bronze pipes of the church organ were dented and bent. The stained-glass mosaic in the window had been broken out. The crosses were flipped over and scolding.

Bitter winter wing pulled through the empty windowpanes and nipped at Ivan's bare face and his gloved fingertips. He tossed the loose end over his shoulder again so it guarded his face.

The pews had been torn up and taken to be used for firewood. Ivan glanced up at the large cross that suspended over the congregation. The priest was nailed to it by his feet, his stomach had been ripped open, and an unborn human fetus was stuffed inside. His rib cage was protruding through the skin. A puddle of red and black mush was plopped on the ground beneath him- probably his internal organs. His robes were soaked red down his chest.

"Enjoying your 'peace'," a cocky voice drawled behind him.

The Russian turned, smiling. "Of course," he chimed. "It's so nice to have everyone in Europe getting along so well~!"

Alfred just shoved his glasses up on his nose and frowned. He'd never let his people come here and see this sort of horror, but at the same time, they should probably see to understand just how bad things were under Stalin and the Red army- if they knew, the few that supported the communists would reconsider. "You're such a creep. Only _you_ would think things are okay. But, Toris let me know that you were crazy." The American shrugged.

"Hm? Ah, you asked how I've been? How sweet of you, America~" Ivan teased.

Alfred smiled back, pumping fake benevolence into it for show. "You know, to see how your health was, if you've been keeping yourself fit, if you need to be committed." He shoved his hands in his coat pockets.

Ivan leaned forward, his lips curling up. He griped Alfred's chin roughly and brought the American closer. "I had never cared to know how _you_ vere doing, but I guess it vould be fit to ask if you're still on that used-bread and pennies diet."

Alfred crossed his leg so he could lean back more comfortably with no support. His depression had him feeling sick and dizzy. He fingered the revolver he kept in his coat, just for as a safety net if he needed it. "Hm…well, I figure this new president I've got will start taking care of that financial issue I got myself in." He shrugged, "Besides, I'll be in a better place than _you_ in a few years."

Ivan quirked an eyebrow, anger boiling again. He hated seeing this American. His voice alone was enough to make him nauseous. The only _good_ thing the west had done was go bankrupt so the wealth fell to the east. "Vhatever are you talking about, Amerika?"

Alfred frowned. He didn't want to think about the manifest war upon them. The Nazi-party had already risen in Germany and was threatening war with France and Poland. Mussolini was rallying his fascist Italians using the "black-shirts". And, Hirohito and the imperialist government in Japan were disturbing the peace with China. If France got into it, then England would follow suit, and Alfred somehow knew he'd be pulled into this eventually.

He was in no shape to go to send _any_ troops to war, even if just a few hundred-thousand. He'd had fevers for the past few years because of his stock market crash, and he couldn't fund all-out war like some of these Easterners.

This was becoming inevitable. Europe would go to war again. But, Alfred would hold back for as long as he could, even if that was a cowardly thing to do. He had to fix his own economy before worrying about Europe's madness.

Ivan leaned forward suddenly, nestling his head in Alfred's neck for warmth. "Mmm…" He held the struggling American still and spoke conversationally. "So, tell me little Amerika, how has your 'social' life been? Need more of those tiny condoms?"

Alfred held down a growl in the back of his throat. This was their game. Try to piss the other off and make them snap. But, whoever lost their cool first would lose their game. So, Alfred just smiled darkly. "I say send as many as you can." He shrugged, jolting the bolshevist's head. "I can never tell when I'll need one. That last box you sent me only lasted a week. These girls just stopped me on the street on their way back from a movie. There had to be a _dozen_ of them just _begging_ for it."

Ivan just chuckled calmly. "American women are not very intelligent are they, and they travel in primitive packs?"

"Well, I'm just glad they're not like burly men. I hear your girls are tough from working in coal mines and such." The American was quite proud of shoving off that insult.

Ivan's smile wavered just a tad. "At least _my_ women can vork. A _housewife_ is never very interesting."

"Interesting?" America jabbed. "What does _that_ matter? I guess you always _did_ like lovers that could pin you to the ground." The fires in the church crackled around them, filling the air with smoke that just blew away.

"I have never been 'pinned'. Not unless I allowed it," Ivan replied sweetly. "I am not masochist. And, _Toris_ knows how to hold back…unlike _some_ people."

Alfred just rolled his eyes, grinning, "You sure like bringing it up. And using _Lithuania_ as a cover? This is sad; I thought you were trying to forget me, hm?" He tapped the communist's nose teasingly and turned on his heel. He strode back down the empty foyer, waving an arm behind himself. "I just came to see what fuckery you were up to now, but have fun trying to erase me!"

Ivan just balled his fists and watched Alfred leave. Their game was getting annoying. Alfred was just a self-assured _pig_. He always butted into everyone's business and acted like he could solve their problems for them, then when things were finally settled, he acted like they couldn't have handled it themselves. He'd pushed his western world into an economic depression, and he was taking too much credit for his efforts in the First World War

The Russian kicked the ashes of a cross, cursing. He needed to stop caring _right now_. He had to stop wondering whether or not Alfred was sleeping with someone. It wasn't his problem.

...

...

March, 1953

The floor was covered in broken glass and burnt up papers. Ivan rocked back and forth on his ankles, curled up and hugging his knees. He watched Stalin as the man stumbled to the wall, tearing at the wallpaper. He was obviously in a great deal of pain.

"_Fucking medics sssshouuulld have been here by noow!_" he shouted in Russian, his words slurring. Ivan just cringed. Stalin gripped his own head and squeezed it tightly, growling.

"_Um…P-please don't do that…"_ Ivan muttered.

Stalin tried to pick up a chair and throw it, but he lost his balance and fell over weakly. The dictator slurred something, but it was hard to tell his words apart now. His condition had been declining for days. This was probably his third stroke this week. He was suffering brain hemorrhaging, and vomiting blood often.

Ivan helped his boss up from where he'd toppled on the floor. Stalin threw curses at him, but allowed the country to put him in bed.

He hadn't received any medical treatment for a few reasons. Firstly, he had purged and arrested many of the country's doctors from their positions and imprisoned them. Secondly, his personal doctors feared helping him, worrying that he would take it as insult to his competence. Thirdly, his closest medical staff probably _wanted_ him dead anyway (and had possibly poisoned him in his sleep to bring him to this point).

His own system was killing him.

And Ivan could only curl his knees in close and watch. His boss threw curses at him, demanding him to be better, reminding him how he'd failed him. Ivan just shut his eyes and tried to block it out.

…

America heard the news of Stalin's death just a day later. It was announced on radios and news stations across the country.

Alfred couldn't stop grinning. He'd been somewhat obsessed and horribly fascinated with hating Stalin. It was so much easier to direct all your loathing toward one crazy, evil, nut-job, genius dictator than it was to hate the people of the Soviet Union.

He could just _imagine_ the broken and lost expression that Commie bastard must be wearing. He stood up to turn off his television, and danced around the couch, waving his arms. He ran up the stairs to his room and just sat on the floor, staring at his map.

He'd finally gotten a new map with other countries on it. But, they were all colored blue and red. He just wanted to know which countries were his and which were the Reds'.

Soon enough, all those ugly little red countries would be gone.

The doorbell rang.

Alfred shot up. Maybe it was Ivan, coming to apologize and beg for mercy- not that he would do that, but a guy can dream. Or maybe Canada had come over to celebrate with him quietly. After all, the Soviet Union still existed, but at least Stalin was gone.

Alfred bobbed down the stairs and unlocked his door. It had been so long since he'd used the locks, he'd forgotten which way they turned, but he couldn't chance leaving himself exposed lately.

Arthur stood in the door awkwardly, wearing a pair of large jeans held up by a chain and a beaten tweed jacket. His fists were shoved in his pockets as if it would make his stance seem more casual. He cleared his throat. "Um…you gonna let me in or…or what?" he asked.

Alfred just bumbled aside. England had been pretty testy since the World Wars, and with this Communism vs. Capitalism thing riling up so quickly, he was almost _always_ pissed. He didn't have the money to spare for war. Alfred didn't want to test him- not right now anyway. He needed England to be his ally in this thing against Ivan.

"Have…you heard then?" Alfred wondered. "Stalin?"

"Of course," Arthur snapped quickly. "It's all over Europe. I don't live under a rock, believe it or not!"

"Yeah, I-I know, I just-mmff!" The American was pushed to the wall, his hair held tightly as Arthur despoiled his mouth. A short wave of nausea rolled over him, but he pushed it back, and returned the fierce, sudden kiss.

Where the hell had this come from? Alfred was in shock at first, but it slowly dawned on him. England was proving their alliance. China had done the same thing for Ivan.

Arthur had raised him like a brother. Now he was kissing him like a lover? It felt so wrong…but it would be so nice to rub this in the Commie's face…

Fucking _Ivan_!

That freak had come to Alfred's house five times over the past few decades, just to remind him that he'd had an '_affair'_ with Lithuania. But, Toris always denied it calmly when Alfred asked him about it during the time the Liet was living in his house.

Then there was _China_. Ivan had come to the world meeting in 49, gripping Yao's waist possessively. He used the Asian to advertise the opportunity to 'become one' with the Soviet Union- as if anyone _wanted_ that…

Had he been trying to make Alfred _jealous_?

Why the fuck would he be _jealous_? Fuck! He'd be happy to have someone take Ivan off his hands!

So, the American gripped onto his former caretaker's hips and pulled him closer, convincing himself that he tasted good. It still felt dirty…but, he ignored it.

Two could play this game. But, the countries of the world would be their cards.

...

...

Summer 1965

"Can we stop talking about Ivan?" Alfred muttered, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "I thought I made it clear, I just want to kill him," he growled. "I don't even care if it hurts him anymore…I just want him dead."

The American used to have fantasies of slowly ripping Ivan's organs out one by one, or feeding them to dogs while they were still connected to the Russian's nervous system. He contemplated the most painful ways to kill someone, and practically pleasured himself to imagining Russian screams and pleas.

Arthur clicked his barrel open and dropped the shells from his machine gun. He tugged his gloved down and pushed his helmet down. His face was grimy and he was bleeding from a piece of shrapnel in his neck, but it would heal by tomorrow. "You'll be MAD if you attack each other directly. Let's just get _this_ fighting over with."

"Don't pull puns while we're on the battlefield," Alfred groaned, uncapping a grenade and throwing it over his trench into the underbrush to deter any guerrillas. MAD, or 'Mutually Assured Destruction' was the only thing holding him back from ripping all the skin off Russia's body and running over his heart in a tank.

Arthur elbowed the American in the side and waved two fingers to the direction they'd move. "Let's go."

Alfred nodded and they jumped from the trench, running with their knees bent tightly so they crouched low. The Americans hated running anywhere in the Vietnam jungles now. The ground was rigged with IEDs in the places you'd least expect them. It was sickening and terrifying to know that the very ground could flip out from under you and drop you to a bed of spikes; or you could open a door, walk down stairs, or just be marching and step on a landmine; even their own _food_ could be rigged with explosives... Death loomed everywhere… It didn't help that you had to see it every way you turned.

Alfred reached for a poison-gas grenade. His hands were slippery with dirt and sweat. He uncapped it with his teeth and tossed it ahead of them into the Vietcong tunnel they'd infiltrate. The entrance puffed out dark black smoke and screaming was heard within the trench.

Vietnam was becoming a burden. America wanted more than anything to pull his men off the battlefield and bring everyone home, but if they left, the Vietcong would take over and many innocent people would die of disease, malnutrition, and war.

And Soviets would win this one.

THAT _couldn't_ happen.

So, Alfred pulled his goggles over his eyes, ignored his citizens' pleas, and dropped down into the guerilla's trench they were targeting, holding a gasmask over his nose and mouth. He aimed his shotgun out in front of him, reaching for the belt across his chest and reloading it quickly.

England jumped down behind him, keeping a good distance. The Brit hadn't been as much help recently as he had in the beginning. Alfred got the feeling that Arthur was losing faith in this country. England was pulling men back slowly but steadily. America was being deserted.

Alfred crouched low under the ceiling and recalled the crude map that the scout had given him of this tunnel system. Most of the Vietcong's tunnels connected in some way or another, but they were a labyrinth and nearly impossible to navigate without detailed maps. He'd never send a civilian-soldier into an uncharted system alone. So, he'd talked his sergeant leader into letting him and Arthur scope it out first and clear the way.

Alfred pointed his shotgun down the corridor, shining a flashlight with his other hand. He started down the next passage when a clawed hand suddenly grabbed his ankle. He jumped, fearing it was a bear-trap strategically placed.

But, he kicked and the hand fell limp. He shined his flashlight down at a dying Vietcong woman, and his stomach curled sourly. Whole families lived in these trenches for _years_…like moles.

He pushed open the doorway she'd been crawling through. From what he could tell, this was the nursery…

Screeching interrupted his thoughts. It was that loud, shrill, blood churning screeching, like nails on a chalkboard- only wetter, like it was coming from a living thing. Alfred pointed his light across the room to a child.

The kid was choking and burning at the same time, his lungs filled with the poison gas. America couldn't do this. He couldn't see something like that and stand back.

He ripped his mask off and dropped down in front of the child, forcing the mask on its face. The child went silent and closed his eyes calmly, breathing deeply. Alfred smiled, his lips already burning from the gas. He held his breath.

America jumped when the child suddenly jerked onto its side, convulsing and gurgling. The mask fell to the dirt floor.

"That's a Cong, Alfred. Leave it," Arthur reminded him, his voice muffled behind his own mask. His gun was still held up from his aiming at the kid.

"So you had to shoot-ack!"

"Poison gas!" Arthur snapped, shoving the mask back on Alfred's face.

The American frowned at the child. Innocent life. He wasn't even old enough to know he was _human_, let alone a Vietcong. He wasn't a threat to democracy…why should he be killed?

"He would've died anyway! Don't start crying here you bloody idiot!" England scolded, pulling him up to his feet roughly. "Let's go!"

* * *

><p><em>Why is it that 700 people hit this story, 72 people subscribe to it, and 56 people have it in their favorites, but only 13 people leave reviews? TALK TO MEH YOU LURKERS!<em>

_I quite liked that chapter. It was hard to write for some reason. I wasn't around during Vietnam, so I just went off a documentary I saw. Hetalia war scenes area always interesting- even if they're a bit depressing. It's just cool to imagine the characters being soldiers in their own army. _

_I'm sorry this took so long. _

_Review Please._


	26. Morale and Patriotism

_My school finally broke down and made an anime club. It's actually pretty cool. There are a few weebos, but I don't mind. _

_Anyway, you don't care about that. Onto the peptalk._

* * *

><p>Songs-<p>

'We Will Recover' by Natasha Bedingfield

'Can't Stop Now'- by Keane

'Flagpole Sitta'- by Harvey Danger

* * *

><p>Alfred sipped down his glass of coffee he'd just fixed. He felt dizzy and nauseous again, and he couldn't remember falling asleep last night. He and England had gone out for some beers to celebrate Alfred's 'not-defaulting'. (The American was physically under his own drinking age, so he had Coca-Cola)<p>

He had to carry the Brit back to his house and put him on the couch closest to the toilet for the night. He had collapsed on his own bed, tired and sore. His strained mind just drifted off, the ends of reality and his astral plane started merging.

He still dreamed of the past. Things seemed clearest when looking at the past instead of trying to move forward. It was too scary to think about what might be coming. He was in a tight situation, fighting on multiple fronts, owing a dozen-trillion dollars, and having fingers pointed at him every time something went wrong in the world.

The doorbell woke him up in the morning. He groaned and rolled over, but the bell just rang again. He sighed and put a pillow over his head. The bell screeched louder, again and again.

"Goddammit, I'm coming! Jesus Christ!" He hauled himself up and jogged down the stairs, gripping his door and tugging it open.

"Morgen, Amerika," A deep voice said seriously as Alfred rubbed his eyes. "Did I wake you?"

He looked up, "Germany?" he grinned. "I was expecting I had a package or something…" He took the other country's hand and shook it sleepily. "I always wonder how you can be awake so early?"

"I jog in the mornings. Self-discipline is always a priority to better oneself."

Alfred rubbed his eyes and sat on his front porch. "Mmm…sleeping in is a weekend ritual 'round here."

"You should really do more physical training," Ludwig said seriously, his voice was deep and he had a strong accent, but Alfred heard enough accents to understand them all. "Your people are becoming larger and larger each year…and not in the proper way."

"Gee, thanks for your criticism. I don't hear that enough from England," Alfred muttered sarcastically. "What brings you here anyway?"

Ludwig sighed and bent over to sit next to the American on the front steps. "I vanted to speak vith you."

Alfred cleared his throat and smiled. "Yeah? What about?"

"I vant the real Amerika back."

"Hm?"

"You haven't been yourself in the past ten years. What happened to that courage, determination, and vision that you had? You lost all that morale that West Europe looked up to you for. You were on top after the forties. Your people were making fifteen times more than we vere. Vhat about now?"

Alfred laughed, "Now? Now, one in ten of my citizens are out of work, and ninety-percent of them believe our government is failing them."

They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes. The German man seemed deep in thought, like he was really trying to think of something good to say.

"Remember Joe Louis in the thirties, Alfred?" the Ludwig finally said, frowning at the ground. "He was inferior, the child of a family of slaves, and the victim of segregation. His parents were exiled from their homes by the Ku Klux Klan. But, he kept his family fed by boxing. He had ten straight wins in the championship. He was your hero for years until he fought Hitler's best man, Max Schmelling. He took a beating, Alfred…remember that?"

The American just cocked up an eyebrow, staring at Ludwig, unsure whether he should be offended or what. "Why are you reminding me of this?"

"Because, he got back up, America," Germany said seriously. "He was knocked down, and the media taunted him for three years after he lost. He let your people down. He was _hated_. But, he kept working to become stronger. And, he got back in the ring. He fought Schmelling again in 38. And he won."

Alfred picked at the rubber on the bottom of his shoe. "It's just the American way…" he muttered.

"Then back up your words," Ludwig said deeply. "The economy might be bad right now, but instead of blaming your bosses and pointing fingers, raise your own morale. Make people _want_ to make it better, because right now, they're dragging their feet."

"It's not like I can just _make_ them-"

"No excuses!" the strict man snapped. "You're the West's icon. You can't fall on your knees after one beating and wallow in remorse over what's lost and what you can't get back. You have to keep moving forward, just pull yourself up, and fight again. I thought that was the _rule_ in America. It's just a little debt and some unemployment. You don't dwell on losing your spirit; you just do something great, and bring it back tenfold."

Alfred hung his head. German was one of his best friends after he'd helped get the strong nation back on his feet after WWII. The German had been bitter at the time. America had lost him his brother, and divided him off with the Soviet Union, like he wasn't a country at all- like he was their _property_. But, at least things had been better on the West side than for Gilbert in East Germany. Alfred, Francis, and Arthur worked together in the Berlin Airlift and supplied Ludwig's people with food and living supplies.

The two countries had become friends since then- or at least as close to being friends as countries could get. And Alfred valued every ally he could get lately. Everyone just tossed the blame on him when things went downhill. But, at least Ludwig believed things could get better.

Alfred hardly believed the same thing. So, he made up excuses and talked with his hands. "It's hard to do that when you don't have a war that's being supported by your people. The difference between now and the thirties, is that nobody wants us to fight in Iraq anymore. Thousands of my citizens are unemployed, and it's not like I can send them all to factories to make weapons like I did back then."

Ludwig just lifted a shoulder and stood. "But, you didn't expect WWII to fix your economy and make you a superpower, did you?"

"Well…how would I? That's not something a person expects…"

"Ja, one expects war to bring nothing but hell- and it does. And yet, the outcomes of war often bring productive changes. But, vhat I'm getting at is: the vorld will surprise you. Things have a way of vorking out. And maybe things will fall apart, maybe people will go homeless and starve, but vhen you can pull through, your people vill remember why their country is so great."

Germany squeezed the American's shoulder in an assuring way. Alfred just nodded, staring at the ground.

"If something is broken, then fix it, Amerika. That has always been your way. Is your government broken? Or, does it just feel that way?"

"But…I still think that Capitalism and Republican Democracy is the best government…it's the only system that lets me feel free…" Alfred began, but he cut off prematurely. he didn't know how to finish his thought. There was a part of him that still trusted the people in control, but he couldn't help but be cynical when he was put in this sad condition.

Ludwig just furrowed his brows. "You vant that freedom, ja? You have always lived to strive for that. So, repair yourself. Remember vhat you stand for, and bring back that glory. You helped me back on my feet sixty years ago."

Alfred groaned. "Everyone wants change, but I don't know if I want things to change. What if they change for the worse? I don't think my people understand who we are. A lot of my people are suggesting plans that sound a lot like communism, and they don't even understand what they're talking about. Especially the younger generation. They don't understand their own roots. They'd rather complain like their parents. Teenagers don't even say the pledge of allegiance in their classrooms because it's suddenly become 'uncool' to be patriotic."

"And you can feel it can't you? When they lose their faith in you, you start to feel it."

Alfred nodded. "It's scary. I reinvent myself every fifteen years or so when the new generation comes. I'm afraid they'll let me down…"

"All nations fear that, Amerika," the German said logically.

"We need a good villain to fight. I need to give them a reason to love me again."

Germany folded his hands. "With the way the world goes, it's likely to come. It's been twenty years since the Reds fell, it's overdue."

"Terrorists were supposed to be the next enemy, but we've been fending them off so well, people are able to ignore it happily. I just hope I don't have to be attacked again for us to recognize a threat…"

The front door creaked open, interrupting the intense conversation, and both nations turned. Arthur was standing behind them, squinting into the sun, wearing a white tee-shirt and baggy sweatpants. "Do you have any aspirin?"

"It's in the medicine cabinet in the upstairs bathroom," America replied calmly.

"When did you get here, Germany?" England said groggily.

"I just came to speak vith Amerika. I'll be going if the two of you would like?"

Alfred waved his hand dismissively. "Naw, Artie's just visiting."

England nodded and retreated back into the house to take a shower and have some painkillers.

"He got drunk off his ass last night," Alfred laughed, elbowing the German.

Ludwig allowed a smile, and they sat in silence for a moment. Alfred was staying in D.C. again. His personal home was in the suburbs, in a small neighborhood near the city, so the two sat back and watched daily suburban life. A random jogger or someone walking a dog would pass, as did the occasional car.

"So…I vanted to talk to you about China and Russia…" the German said carefully.

Alfred groaned. "Don't wanna talk about that..."

"Vell, it is relevant, so you cannot avoid it. And, _I_ can't allow you to go to someone like France for advice, as I know you will…"

Alfred rolled his eyes and cleared his throat again. "Say what you've got," he invited.

"Vell, firstly, you shouldn't fear China. He's shown no aggression towards you. You're only acting childish by comparing yourself to him constantly."

"Well, I-"

"Don't interrupt," Ludwig snapped. "I vasn't finished."

Alfred sighed and motioned for him to continue.

Germany took a deep breath. This was just as hard for him to say as it was for Alfred to hear. "People- _and_ countries…we change. I know that the Russian Federation doesn't exactly _like_ the west. But, they don't hate us anymore…at least, not collectively."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong," Alfred muttered, rising up. "He'd still love it if I were to fall."

Germany rubbed his temple. "No one _vants_ you to _fall_. The most they vould like vould be for you to step down a few notches. Do you not realize? If you fall, you take down half the vorld with you. But, it's not even a fear. You've been through, vorse, yes?"

"If you're not afraid of me letting you all down, then why are you here anyway?"

"Because, you seem have low morale lately, and it's unsettling and unusual. You can't let Russia, China, and your economy depress you, not when so many people are relying and looking on you."

"Is that all?" Alfred said, brushing himself off and standing. He was glad for the lengthy pep-talk from such an unexpected place, but he didn't want to be told what to do right now. Not from anyone, not his boss, not his business people, not his banks, and definitely not from other countries.

Ludwig just sighed and stood up. "Vell, I'll leave you to your own devices zen."

They said their polite goodbyes and Alfred returned inside. He opened his cabinet to get some cereal, and the telephone rang suddenly.

It was his boss…

He just talked quietly, his voice fading away. This was the _last_ thing he needed right now, but he just nodded and agreed. Maybe some good jet-speed dog-fighting would do him some good right now. The adrenaline always helped.

Alfred hung up his phone and ran his hand through his hair. He moved up the stairs to his bedroom to suit up. Someone would be in the front yard in twenty minutes to pick him up.

Arthur came around the corner while the American pulled on a white tank top to wear under his uniform shirt. He put his dog-tags on, just for the effect of it really; he didn't expect to be shot down. He was their ace pilot, their trump card; there was no way he'd be bested by an Iraqi.

"Where are you going?" the Brit questioned.

Alfred turned, finally noticing the other man's presence. "They need me in Iraq. I'll be back by tomorrow… You can head home if you don't wanna be here by yourself, but I don't care if you stay…"

England blinked, "I just got a call from my boss to come home. Apparently people are rioting in the streets…" He said it so casually, as if he were trying to brush it off before America could panic over it.

Alfred shrugged and slipped on his uniform shirt, fiddling with the buttons. He pulled on his bomber jacket over the suit. "Like I told ya, I don't care what you do," he said, patting the man's arm as he passed. "See ya, Artie," he chirped happily. A dog-fight seemed more and more appealing. He could use some G-forces to clear his head.

Arthur stared after him, reaching out and grabbing the American's wrist. Alfred turned just to be pulled into a rough, awkward hug. He smiled and returned it. England pushed a piece of blonde hair behind America's ear, "Good luck…" he muttered.

Alfred's grin faded; he just stood there, unsure what to make of that. The planes that the Iraqis used were usually Soviet jets. England understood what this meant as well as he did. But, Alfred knew his own enemy.

Arthur released him and they exchanged looks.

Alfred left without another word.

…

Alfred silently thanked God for the advancements in aerial warfare during Dessert Storm. He loved dog-fights, feeling like he belonged perfectly in the air, but the technology had become extremely advanced.

It was his way. Innovate to fit the needs of the times. Innovate to cover distance, innovate to stay on top, invent for the hell of it, invent to recover, invent to entertain, and move forward at every opportunity.

He was in Iraq, currently engaged in a team dogfight with four American jets and five Iraqi ones. The Iraqis used Migs, jets they still bought from the Russian Federation.

A Mig-25 turned as sharp as it could, but Alfred's F-39 could maneuver much faster with better agility. Alfred pulled down sharp, dipping below the Iraqi jet. He leveled out in a proper chase formation and pushed his jet as fast as it would fly. The adrenaline fended off the effects of the g-forces.

The Migs were Soviet engineering. They could cover a distance as large as Texas in less than a minute. But, Alfred wasn't alone in the air. Three of his comrades were helping him take down five Iraqi jets.

Alfred pulled up behind the Mig and dodged one of his comrades going down from above him. He locked on the Mig and sent off a heat-seeking missile. The Iraqi pilot sent off a decoy flare and the missile collided to that instead.

Alfred cursed in the back of his throat and used a regular long-range missile. The Mig had mistaken it for a heat-seeker and launched off more flares. Alfred grinned and launched off one last heat-seeker that went unnoticed this time. It made contact directly with the tale-pipes of the Mig and the Iraqi jet became a cloud of fire and dust.

Alfred's squadron-mates were cheering on the microphones. It was three Americans against four Iraqis now. But, backup came in with long distance –beyond-visual-range- and another Iraqi jet exploded in a cloud of smoke. More loud cheering ensued.

But it was a short-lived victory. A Mig was pulling up into targeting formation behind Alfred. The American dipped, turning hard left in his F-39. The Mig trailed him, gaining on him.

Alfred tried to use his jet's agility against the Iraqi by switching quickly to hard right, still dropping thousands of feet every moment. When the Mig followed easily, Alfred considered trying to climb and turn up behind the jet, but the Mig had better climbing capabilities and they would probably just pass him.

So he kept dipping. It was a futile run and he knew it. What he didn't understand was, where were his allies? The Mig was positioning himself for a head seeking side-winder shot, so Alfred shot off some flares.

They caught the missile, but Alfred was already too low and it was too late to climb, the jet was going to hit the ground.

Alfred ejected as quickly as he could, yet the jet exploded around him. The fire didn't get to him in the ejected cockpit, but a large chunk of shrapnel skewered through the metal frame and directly through the left side of the American's chest. Alfred cried out in pain.

He coughed blood and jerked forward into the controls as the capsule hit the sand. Flaming bits of the jet streamed down from the sky around him. Alfred slowly lost consciousness with the thought that no one would know to look for him…

* * *

><p><em>I apologize for that super-long pep-talk and the bad German accents. I had to include Germany somehow, and he seemed like the type to give a mean morale talk. He's good at organizing people and telling them what to do. He just knows what to say. Plus, I didn't use him in the Cold War context, so I'm including him in the present.<em>

_And the jet-dog-fighting is probably because I've been watching the History Channel all day. There was a special on about the Iraqi war. I don't know if I got the names of the jets right or not…but, I tried my best. It's hard to find that information on the internet._

_**Review please**? I'm suspended at 11 per chapter. Which is kinda good I guess. It'd be nice to hear from new people..._


	27. Given' a Choice

_I'm sorry about this whole chapter…It's just one giant block of dialogue really. But, there's a lot that needs to be said. _

_Anyway, go easy on the critizm. I'm not very comfortable with uploading this chapter as it is. Dialogue is a very raw sort of writing._

* * *

><p>Songs<p>

'Asphyxiated'- by Muse

'Liar'- by Taking Back Sunday

'Love me Dead'- by Ludo

'As You Cry'- by The Hush Sound

* * *

><p><em>"Can he walk yet?" A deeply concerned voice asked urgently, using that language that only nations knew, so all signs of an accent were gone. <em>

_"The wound was deep, and across his chest and stomach, and his left leg was crushed on impact, and some ligaments were torn. The healing will all depend on his body's ability to recover. For a human it would be months, but he'll probably take a few days..."_

_"I doubt that."_

_"He's in __**my **__hospital. It could be days before he even wakes up, if you don't want to wait, then you should leave and come back later…"_

_"I'm not waiting __**days**__ for the bloody fool to wake up, and he knows it!"_

_People moved about the hospital room. It was all heard in a swirling echo in Alfred's half-conscious mind. There was a sharp slap of a hand against skin. "Don't touch him. He'll wake you when he's ready, yes?"_

_"Don't touch me, frog!"_

_"Please don't start fighting you two…something might get knocked over, or someone might get hurt," the first voice said, laughing a little. _

_"Seriously, you guys! You might push something over onto him. If he doesn't wake up soon, I'll __**never**__ get my money back, aru!"_

_The door slammed open. "I heard America was hurt!"_

_"Denmark? Why the hell are __**you**__ here?"_

_Alfred couldn't get his eyes open yet, but he was acutely aware of someone gripping his hands and sobbing. "No! You can't die! You still owe me money! Ack! Fuck! Norge~ don't hit me!"_

_"He's not dying idiot." _

_"Norway? Why are you here? You were just attacked; you should be resting at home…"_

_"M' fine," the small man said calmly. He looked tired and had a bandage wrapped around his head, but he didn't show any sign of pain._

_"What happened to him?" a new voice inquired._

_"He crashed a F-39 into the ground…bloody idiot."_

_"So then it's his own damn fault! Why the hell did you bring me here you fucking tomato bastard?"_

_"Aren't you worried about America, Lovi?"_

_"If he's stupid enough to drive a jet into the ground, then no, I'm not wasting my precious time on worrying. He's going to get himself killed no matter what I think of it." _

_"But-"_

_"We're leaving!"_

_"I think it would be a good idea if everyone went home actually…" _

_"Even me?"_

_"Even you, England. It would be best for his health if he woke up in a quiet room…no need to raise his blood pressure when there's a massive hole in his chest…"_

_"Wow, you're actually being serious, Francis?" Denmark said. _

_"Yes, I'm very serious. Clear the room out!"_

_Footsteps shuffled out quietly, without much protest. No one wanted to be held responsible if America's healing was slowed in any way. _

_Francis sighed and rubbed his temple as he closed the door behind Arthur who was still trying to convince the Frenchman that he should stay. The frog turned back around and leaned against the door. _

_"Ivan?"_

_The Russian had taken the seat next to Alfred's bed and folded his hands in his lap. "Yes?"_

_"You don't want to go home?"_

_Ivan just smiled. "No," he replied sweetly, still speaking that country-language that everyone liked to converse in when they all met in one place._

_Francis hesitated. "Um…if you don't mind my asking…why not?"_

_"My sister broke into my home. That's the only reason why I found America. I tried to find him in his capital, but he wasn't there, so I was flown to Iraq and he hadn't returned to the Air Force base. They sent out a search party when I told them how important it was to find him."_

_"And you brought him to __**me**__ because…?" Francis wondered._

_Ivan smiled, "You have the best healthcare."_

_The Frenchman straightened a bit and grinned cockily. "You have good taste~"_

_"It's just medical care," Ivan deadpanned, still smiling. _

_France frowned. "Well, fine then. Be that way. You know you'd love me to give you a check up~"_

_Ivan ignored France's fake-advance and leaned over to touch the American's hand. "What you said about Arthur…was that true?" Ivan demanded suddenly, turning to the Frenchman. _

_"Angleterre? Ah…well that's…"_

_"Is it?"_

_"I don't want to say in front of America…"_

_"Yes or no?"_

_"It is…" Francis said finally. "But, Alfred is too thick to realize, let alone return it. So, I get to claim Arthur for now…"_

_Ivan just nodded, staring down at the American intensely. Alfred could __**never**__ know that Ivan was wrong…or at least the American couldn't know that he felt that he was. The Russian couldn't stand to apologize. It simply wouldn't happen. But...he didn't want to stay angry at him for telling a little lie just to make him jealous._

_Instead, he stretched his fingers to brush against the Americans and grip them carefully. He laced their finger together comfortably. He didn't mind the Frenchman's eyes on his back, until Alfred's heart monitor beeped faster, maybe due to the sudden cold hands on his, or because he'd subconsciously realized that Ivan was holding his hand._

Whatever the cause, America's brain was clicked on. Alfred's eyes were finally opening. They faltered a moment, adjusting to the starched artificial light. He took in his surroundings, the heart monitor beeping to his right, the bleached walls and floor tiles, the dividing curtain that was currently pulled back from the middle of the room, the window leading out to the street below. His vision was a bit blurry without the 28th state over his eyes.

"Why are you holding my hand?" he sighed, reaching with his free one for his glasses. His arm was bandaged up, and the blankets shucked under his movement.

"Why did you fly an F-39 straight onto the desert ground?" Russia countered.

"Why are we speaking country language?"

Ivan shrugged. "It's easier to understand."

Alfred plopped his head back into his pillow. "Where am I?" he wondered. "And what kinda drugs am I on? The room is fucking swirling."

"You are in France, love. Russia found you in Iraq, and brought you here. And, as for the medication, you're still on the anesthesia from the surgery." Francis was leaning against the window.

Alfred sighed again, agitated, turning his gaze back on Russia. "Why where you looking for me," he said accusingly. He wasn't ready to forgive Ivan for his manhandling him. He didn't take those sorts of things lightly anymore.

Ivan knotted his eyebrows, twisting the American's wrist back roughly. Alfred couldn't feel it anyway. "My sister broke down my front door, I had to escape out the back, she followed me to China, and I caught a jet to your capital. You weren't home, so I went to Iraq to find you."

"What? To blame me?"

"Of course," Ivan lied. He really had no idea why he wanted to run to America. He at least felt safe around Alfred… "You're boss let her free, yes? If you had just put her in a prison or something, we wouldn't have this issue…"

"She's a _country,_ I can't put her in prison just because you can't tell her to leave you alone," Alfred spat. Ivan twisted his hand back further. The American just laughed while Francis looked on with horror, but there wasn't much he could do to get in between these two. "I can't feel a fucking thing, bastard!" Alfred laughed.

Ivan smiled pleasantly, "But you will~"

America ripped his hand away and finally looked down at himself to see just how bad the damage was. He was under a hospital blanket, and his foot was suspended up in a splint over his head. He could feel a cast over his chest and some tight wrapping constricting his breathing. His arms had bandages, and his neck was wrapped. Some of the wrappings were stained through with blood.

Alfred kicked his right foot off the side of the bed, hooking it onto the side of the cot and pulling his splinted leg off. He sat up. His left leg stuck straight out off the side of the bed at an awkward ninety-degree angle. It felt like a giant brick was attached to his hip instead of a leg, but he could imagine that was just the numbing shots.

Francis was waving at some girls walking past the window two floors below, but he turned suddenly when he heard the bed creak. "You shouldn't move yet, America!" he cried, moving to the bed and trying to push Alfred back on it.

America just laughed, "Knock it off, France! I'm fine!" He stood up and put a hand on his hip. He stood for a minute, but accidentally put too much pressure on the splinted leg, and he fell back. His leg bent just a fraction and it felt like his bones were breaking all over again. He must've torn some nerves up... "Damn…" he muttered.

"He told you not to stand…" Ivan pointed out smugly.

"I don't need your input!" Alfred snapped. He braced himself against his I.V. and used it as a crutch to stay upright. He sent a glare to the Russian and slowly moved his balance to his good leg. "I'm perfectly fine…" he growled.

Ivan just smiled, muttering to himself how he would stab Alfred later, speaking Russian so no one understood anything but a stream of 'kols'.

"You're such a freak," Alfred said outright. The air felt tense, as if the two might try to strangle one another, and that was the _last_ thing America needed at the moment. "I asked Ukraine what that 'kol' thing meant. And, go ahead and stab me! It doesn't fucking hurt! You already broke my wrist I think!" The American held his hand up. It was bent the wrong direction still.

Ivan folded his arms over his chest. "It doesn't mean 'stab'. It means 'stake'. You must have misunderstood, as is expected of you. To put it in simple terms for you, it has the connotation of claiming or counting off your property."

Alfred tried to ball up his fist, but his hands were wrapped up too tightly. Russia was such a creep. It's not like America would allow him to claim countries again, and directly insulting his intelligence was just a dick move. "If I could bend my fingers, I'd throw something at you," Alfred said, grinning angrily. "Something sharp…" he looked around the room for something good.

Francis had backed up in a corner, just in case Alfred really did find a way to make this a brawl.

"Hm? At least you're being honest, that's a new concept for you~!" Ivan replied, smiling back.

"Being a liar is the most honest way to live; at least you know you are one."

Ivan's smile twitched, "I can't believe we were almost friends…"

France was still trying to stay out of this, but hearing them move so progressively in the _wrong_ direction was frustrating for the country of love. Francis pouted, "What happened to you two?" he said dramatically. "Last time I saw you, I could've sworn I saw a spark of _something_ good…this is just reverting back to normal!"

"Normal?" Ivan muttered? Just what about his relationship with Alfred was _'normal'_?

France's lips thinned, "Well, normal for you two. You have two versions of fighting, and they both scare the shit out of everyone else who watches…"

Alfred sent him an incredulous look, "What are you talking about?"

Francis rubbed his temple. "You two bicker like a married couple! But, it's scary! You can feel the tension in the air, thick as butter! You two will argue while smiling creepily, with those crooked smiles and dark expressions as if you might cut the other's throats any second. Then you can also fight for real, with fists and teeth, clawing, scratching, screaming…and it freaks everyone out. It's like you forget that the world is there watching you!"

"Just…butt out of it France," Alfred said calmly.

Ivan stood from the seat beside the American's bed. He moved to Francis and lifted him by the collar off the ground. "I want to have a word with Америка," he said, smiling. He held the Frenchman up with one arm and carried him to the door, setting him in the hallway and closing him out. Francis protested and kicked the entire way, thrashing in the Russian's grip. He pounded on the door, but Ivan just smiled and locked him out, placing an armchair securely under the handle.

Alfred just watched with a quirked eyebrow. To any normal person, Ivan's behavior would be deplorable and…unsettling. America could've laughed. He smirked at the Russian. "So, by 'talk' you mean…?"

Ivan just smiled, "The others wouldn't understand."

Alfred shrugged, "Naturally. I've got a few things I wanted to say to _you_ in particular."

"Oh, really? How interesting," Ivan said. They were feigning civility, just as they used to. Though, the scale seemed much smaller.

There was a time when their fist fights would've never ended if they'd begun. Alfred wasn't sure how far they'd receded after that fight over Arthur, but at least that fight had proven that they could be ripped off each other now if things got ugly. He didn't want to kill Ivan anymore, but he sure as hell wouldn't be pushed around by him.

"If I had to chance a guess…" Ivan muttered, "You want to talk about Iraq. More specifically, you want to talk about my contract to sell them weapons…"

Alfred leaned against the window, folding his arms over his casted chest. It felt awkward to hold his arms out so far to fold them, but at least it was a hard cast and he could prop them up. "That's it exactly."

Ivan smirked with fake sympathy, "You can't honestly be mad at _me_ for that?"

"Who else should I be pissed off at for _your_ actions?"

"Maybe yourself," Ivan suggested, stepping around the hospital bed so he could lower his voice a notch. Alfred was piercing him with his dark blue stare. "I specifically _told_ you to stop sending the Middle East technology."

Alfred glared at him, "If you're blaming me for the measures I took for my own defense, then you really _are_ dumber than you try to make _me_ look…"

"For your own defense!" Ivan shouted, frustrated. "For your own defense? What, did you think they'd _**thank**_ you for selling them jets and missiles? They still _**hated**_ you! What did you _**think**_ they'd use them for? Launching a campaign against communism?"

"If you didn't notice, they were sort of in the middle of the gulf war at the time!"

"Oh, so they were just an easy customer?" Ivan said lividly, his voice rising for some reason. He couldn't understand how this was riling him up so badly. "Are you _stupid,_ Alfred? They were my _ally_ at the time! And even _I_ was telling you not to sell to them!"

"I'm not _stupid_!" America spat. "I sold them, had them used in the Gulf War, and the UN went back to destroy what was left of them!"

"And how is that at all '_heroic_' or _'just'_? Hm? You sold them weapons, and went back and destroyed them once you'd collected your money! It sounds underhanded and greedy if you ask me."

"You think you were in any position to lecture _me_ on being underhanded and greedy? You built a Eastern empire, killed millions of your people, and claimed countries' governments. You ruined lives…took them…"

"And what are _you_ doing now?" Ivan demanded. "You think I haven't noticed you building your little Western powers and NATO growing every year? If it's not imperialism, then it's at least expansion. And how do you think that makes me feel?" He stepped closer so the two were almost chest to chest.

"It's different," Alfred rebutted.

"How?"

"I'm not killing anyone!" America spat.

Ivan laughed earnestly. That was a good joke. America- not killing anyone. The two things just hadn't gone together since the Vietnam war. Even today, the weapons that the United States had sold on a global scale were being used to kill, especially in the Middle East and Africa. Many were still a threat to America himself.

"You might not be killing with your very hands at the moment, but isn't that what I had to retrieve you from when I found you in the desert, crashed in a fighter jet?"

Alfred had nothing to say to that. "What's the _real_ reason you came looking for me?" he demanded, trying to divert the argument away from that. "Your sister might've been _part_ of it, but you wouldn't come to _me_ for something like that,"

Ivan just smiled. The circumstances were perfect. He could expose Alfred's lies while ratting out England. "I learned something important…about your 'friend' _Arthur_."

The intensity of Alfred's expression faded. "Artie?"

Ivan nodded, grinning like a child that was bad at keeping secrets. "Yes. The two of you haven't slept together in fifty years."

Alfred's expression went bored. He rolled his eyes. "Wow, nice job Sherlock. Just realizing this?"

"And he's still completely in love with you."

Alfred knit his eyebrows. That just didn't add up. Sure, England was always trying to get his attention, and they'd been best friends since the fifties, but Artie would've given up on having such a relationship by now. It wasn't even like he'd want one. But still, Ivan seemed pretty sure of this information, so the best thing to do would be to play along. "And you're still completely in love with China," he snapped.

"Don't bring Yao into the conversation. This isn't about him."

"Right, it's about my lie. But, what's the big deal? I don't like Artie like that, okay? Not a big deal," he shrugged.

Ivan gripped the American's jaw and jerked it up roughly. America didn't defend himself, he didn't even move. Alfred was injured, so the Russian could have the upper hand with no resistance. "I hate people with lying eyes."

Alfred laughed, contemplating spitting in Ivan's face. The Russian kept inching too close-for-comfort. He apparently didn't understand the concept of personal space. "If you hate me so much, why didn't you just leave me in the desert?"

"I want my heart back," Ivan said naturally.

"I think I lost it," Alfred grinned.

That tore it, the Russian gripped America's neck and pushed him flush against the wall. "I'm sick of this game!" he shouted. "Don't lie to my face!"

"Maybe I don't _want_ to give it back!" Alfred shouted.

Ivan's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but he didn't back off. "Why?"

Alfred didn't have a reason. Not a logical one anyway. So, he didn't answer. But, he couldn't have Ivan's face this close to his. It was unsettling. He could _feel_ the Russian's breath on his cheek. Eleven years ago, the young Russian Federation had stood on his doorstep. He rang the bell and tried to convince America not to sell any technology to Iraq. Alfred didn't want listen. A year later: the World Trade Center fell, killing thousands of workers, and leaving New York City in a cloud of ash and dust. "Why did you warn me about Iraq?" he wondered suddenly.

"Because you were going to get yourself killed!"

"Wouldn't that have been _helpful_ for you?" Alfred demanded. This was becoming more and more confusing with each retort.

"It's not like I wanted you attacking my ally!"

"Oh, so it was just for your own weapons-selling gain?"

Ivan smirked. "Did you expect something else?"

Alfred just grinned darkly. "It's not like you'd be _worried_ about me."

Ivan moved his grip from the American's neck. "Of course not. You're a fat, greedy, hypocrite."

America's eyes narrowed angrily, "And you're a controlling, manipulative, phony!"

"Lying, skinless, self-righteous, covetous, pompous…" Ivan snarled, leaning forward so far that Alfred's head beat back into the wall just to avoid clashing noses. "Bigoted, predictable-"

"Fugly, big-nosed, over-sized, stiff!" Alfred countered, leaning up on his leg-brace and raising himself an extra inch to be eye-level with the Russian and scream right in his face.

"Fraudulent, shoddy, stupid-" Ivan's face inched closer furiously so Alfred could taste his warm breath as he spat insults in his face. "When will you ever lear-?"

America's breath halted. He saw it coming, but he was still hyper-aware of Ivan's lips just barely grazing his. He pulled back quickly, eyes wide. "D-Did you just…?" he said slowly, trying to control his heartbeat that was beating erratically on the annoying monitor.

Ivan stepped back, his eyes wide and dark. "I didn't!" he snapped.

Alfred covered his mouth and laughed hysterically. Somehow this whole ordeal seemed extremely amusing, like something out of a crappy Spanish soap opera that he could only understand half of. He shuffled back to his bed and slipped down onto it carefully. His cast gripped at his skin uncomfortably. He chuckled quietly. "What have we been reduced to?" he wondered aloud.

Ivan backed up to the wall, wiping his mouth clean. "The frog is right about us…" he said bitterly.

Alfred caught his breath and sighed. "No, we're _worse_ than a married couple bickering… We're enemies acting like the past still matters."

Ivan rubbed his temple. Enemies again? "What ever happened to the days where the hatred was real? We used to hold so much over each other… The world used to tremble at our feet in fear of what we might do to each other. You were dangerous. You were more _fun_ to be around…."

Alfred cocked his head to the side, "I'm sorry I'm trying to be civil. I know…trust me, I know. It feels like I've been extinguished against my will… I'm so much more productive when I've got a good reason to be." Ivan nodded, leaning against the wall and folding his arms over his chest. "I mean…the last century was probably the best time of my life- even with all the paranoia and the Red Scare."

Ivan smiled. It was still sort of flattering to hear every time Alfred admitted that he'd _feared_ the Soviet Union. It was reassuring that he wasn't the _only_ one who was afraid during the Cold War. "Yes, it should have been a good time for you, new technologies, the information era, civil rights movements, the baby boom, rise of the automobile, being five times more wealthy than Europe- and five times as lazy. But, none of it would've happened _without_ me…"

Alfred quirked an eyebrow and glared up at the Russian.

Ivan just smiled down at him softly like he was a child. "If you weren't constantly trying to be the exact opposite of what _I_ was, you wouldn't have bothered, would you?"

"Well…"Alfred had nothing to say to that either. It was completely true after all. The civil rights movement was spurred on by the individualist attitude of Americans. Alfred was obsessed with being an individualist as long as Ivan was a socialist. The only reason he'd gone to the moon was just to show up the Reds. He'd pumped so much effort into being _better_ than the USSR…it had inadvertently made him happier somehow.

Alfred averted his eyes. It was sort of depressing that he was so happy with material things. He'd been so content to hate the first person who tried to be his friend…but it wasn't like Ivan hadn't started it.

"It would be so much easier if I still had to hate you," he muttered. "At least I wouldn't have to make up my own mind."

Ivan frowned. Alfred had figured it out before he could. That was the reason why they were so unsure and tense about this whole thing. Over the last century, they'd been forced to hate each other, as communism and capitalism can _never_ get along. Now: they had to choose what to feel. And that wasn't easy.

"I always want to be one for optimism…though it doesn't usually work out," Ivan muttered. "As you know…"

America nodded. "And I only tend to be optimistic when things are going well for me…" And, they really weren't. Not with the economy, and definitely not with Russia.

"I've noticed," Ivan said calmly, taking a seat on the bed next to the American.

"So…"

Russia nodded. "So," he agreed.

Alfred sighed and leaned against the headboard. It was difficult to sit up with this stiff wrapping around his chest. "What now? Do I really have to decide whether or not to hate you?"

Ivan rolled his eyes impatiently. "You don't decide _anything_ Alfred. Our people usually do so for us."

"But, I wanna know," Alfred muttered to no one in particular. "What do I think of Russia?"

* * *

><p><em>Whoopsies, I think two people just kissed by accident. <em>

_There was soooo much dialogue in this one. I like writing dialogue, but tell me if I went overboard…? That conversation seemed in-character to me, but they were mostly just talking politics…Tell me if their character seemed off._

_It takes you seconds to write a review, but they make me a happy writer, which may lead to less angst and more fluff. _

_So review plz. _


	28. Always Someone Else

_Sorry about the wait for this one. I've been uber-busy lately. _

_I had another idea for another fanfic to work on…okay, read for this? _

_GAKUEN ZOMBIE APOLYPSE!_

_It'll be epic. If I ever get started on it._

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><p><span>Songs<span> (long chapter, lot of songs)

'Enough for Now'- by the Fray

'Stop Trying'- by Sia

'Scar'- by Missy Higgins

'That's Okay'- by The Hush Sound

'No Escape'- by Civalias

* * *

><p>Ivan paced back and forth across the hallway in a bored manner. Francis had called in security and had him taken from Alfred's room. Apparently, he didn't take his being set in the hallway in such a fashion as a sign of benevolence… He'd been worried that Ivan was hurting Alfred or something…<p>

Which was ridiculous!

The Russian walked to the snack machine, feeding in some coins and waiting for his water bottle. It didn't drop for him. He kicked the machine half-heartedly and shrugged. It would probably be easier to just walk down to the food court.

…

Francis let himself back into Alfred's room after the Russian had been escorted out. He poised himself on the edge of the bed, sitting elegantly. Ivan had suggested he talk to Alfred about Arthur's lingering feelings. The Russian probably thought England's one-sided affections were highly amusing. But, he was hiding it very well.

Alfred was trying to scratch an itch behind his leg-brace. He gave up dramatically, throwing himself back onto the pillow and wincing when his chest hit the mattress.

Francis could've smacked him upside the head, but there was medical wrapping there too. "Sit still," he scolded instead.

"Yes, _mom_…" the American snickered. "Why'd you wanna talk to me?" he wondered.

Francis shifted awkwardly. "Well…It's actually about-"

"How Artie's in love with me?"

The Frenchman's cheeks flushed and he choked on his own saliva. "H-how did you know that was it?" he demanded.

Alfred rolled his eyes. "God, I doubt there's a straight country on earth!" he laughed. His smile faded off at Francis' expression. He took on a more serious tone, "I've known for years I guess." He couldn't meet France's eyes. "I just try to act clueless so I won't hurt him again…"

Francis wore an unreadable expression. "Wow, America! I never realized you thought these things through… L'amor never seemed your area of expertise…or…rather an area you knew existed…"

Alfred rolled his eyes. "It's not like I would just walk up to him and laugh in his face about it or something… There's a difference between empathy and compassion."

Francis ruffled his hair gently and smiled. "I think you should talk to him about it. Either way."

Alfred shook his head. "You should do it."

Francis closed his eyes, trying to be patient. He didn't feel like forcing Alfred to do anything. But he sure as _hell_ wasn't going to break the news to England. "I'm going to send him back in. He's still waiting in the hallway to speak with you."

"No!" Alfred practically shouted. It would be completely useless to try and talk to England about how he _felt_. England pretended to not feel _anything_. He would just end up embarrassing himself if he tried to make Arthur talk about their past…

Francis' lips thinned like a parent about to scold their child.

"Well, it's not like he'd admit to anything!" Alfred defended himself quickly.

France sighed. This was true. He understood as well as anyone. Even _his_ own charm was barely cutting through that thick shell the "Black Sheep of Europe" had built around himself. He rarely received a pleasant word or a smile…and they'd been good allies for the past few decades.

"I…I'm tired of you tearing his heart into two~!" Francis sighed dramatically.

Alfred just laughed at the display. "It's not that bad!"

France became suddenly serious and leaned closer to the nation he'd helped build. "He…was so happy when the two of you were together in the sixties and seventies… You should've seen his expression when he talked about how much you liked the Beatles and his punk culture."

"Look, France," Alfred began, not making eye-contact, "I never tried to lead him on or anything."

"But you did."

"Well, it's not like I-"

"Oh, stop being such a child, America!" Francis scolded. "You're not in trouble; I'm not going to make you sit in time out or something!"

Alfred just rubbed his wrist that Ivan had most likely broken when they were bickering. Right now, he was on too many drugs to feel it. Francis scooted closer and took the hand, inspecting the bruises and twisting it gently to see how the bones aligned. He 'tsk'ed his tongue and shook his head.

"It's broken I think," Alfred added, trying to be a bit helpful.

The Frenchman laughed through his nose, "Yes, well _I_ could have told you _that_…"

America studied the pattern on his bed sheet, now spread neatly back over his chest and good leg. Francis had placed his shattered leg back in the sling and threatened to tie him to the bed if he moved again. Alfred didn't like that kind of threat from the old pervert, though he knew well enough that France was too obsessed with _love_ and _passion_ to be lewd to someone he felt nothing for.

"So…um…you think I should talk to him?" Alfred said hesitantly.

France nodded, his lips thinned in thought. He rubbed his stubbly chin and sighed. "Just…try not to make him murder me or anything…"

…

…

Russia was humming happily as he grabbed a tray at the food court, walking down the line and picking up little packages with French writing on them and pictures of food. He'd learned how to read French in the eighteen-hundreds when it was popular among his nobles. He hadn't really used the language since then…

"Russia? What brings you to France?" a curious voice said behind him.

Ivan turned, smiling still. An apple rolled off his tray onto the floor and rolled away. He ignored it and looked down at who had spoken. "Ah, Lithuania. Did you come to visit Америца as well?"

"Well, actually, I came to- …wait…why's America here? Is he hurt?"

Ivan quirked an eyebrow. His little pet had never been concerned for America before. "He was injured in Iraq…does this bother you?" Ivan said, forcing pleasantness into his voice.

Lithuania rubbed the back of his head and looked around for that apple Ivan had dropped. "Um. No, not at all…um…I was just wondering," he muttered. He'd been watching America closely lately. He was afraid of something blowing up again.

Alfred had been sweet-talking Georgia a few years ago, suggesting NATO membership to her, and feigning his support for her. So, she felt safe to provoke Russia…and Russia didn't take it kindly. Alfred had stepped back once he heard Ivan was getting involved. America didn't want to risk a scuffle with Russia again. So, the fight escaladed, and America had completely abandoned the picture. So…a lot of the Baltics and the countries around Russia had lost their faith in Alfred as their protection.

But, Toris still trusted America.

Ivan was singing in Russian under his breath as he waiting in line for silverware. He danced a little in place, grinning like a big child, his voice was forced at a high pitch. Toris shivered. Why did he have to act like he was so cute and innocent if he could guiltlessly crush people's skulls in with the blunt part of a lead pipe? It was just…creepy.

An arm dropped down on Toris' shoulder. "I think dat we should sit together, Bы дyмaeтe?" He gave a quick smile before steering Liet away to a table without waiting for his response. Ivan was even courteous enough to hold the chair out for his 'friend'.

Somewhere on the other side of the room, somebody tripped on the apple and a fork slipped, bouncing off a tray and shooting up through the air. "M-Maple!"

Toris watched with little interest. Horrible 'coincidences' like being stabbed with forks tended to happen around Ivan. He turned back to the Russian who was already ripping open the little packages of food. "So…um…you're here to visit America?"

"Дa?"

"Um…i-if you don't mind me asking…uh…_why_?"

"Hm?" Ivan looked up from a package of strudel. He put on a childish smile and tilted his head to the side curiously. "You say odd things Liet. I was the one who brought him here."

"Wait…w-what?"

"Of course!" Ivan said happily. "He was in Iraq, killing people, and his jet dove into the ground," he acted it out with his hand, nose-diving and smashing it into his lunch tray. He laughed.

Toris gave up. He didn't even need to know.

"Ni hao~!"

"Здравствуйте!"

Toris almost groaned. Two of the most powerful countries in the eastern hemisphere were sitting at a lunch table with him, making table conversation, and he had no idea what he was supposed to do.

Yao had become comfortable around Ivan over the past two decades. Russia wasn't some big, land-gobbling, nuclear-loaded superpower anymore. China had become strong enough to hold his own no matter what Russia did anyway. He finally understood how America had always been able to keep a brave face on even when being threatened by the Soviet Union when it was at its worst.

The two superpowers held an idle conversation about America's debt and his current injuries, and Toris managed to slink away to chat with Poland.

…

…

Francis ruffled Alfred's hair before stepping out. The American's wrist was now splinted and he'd been given more shots of Novocain to numb whatever was left to feel.

Matthew had come up briefly to see how his brother was doing. He had four little puncture marks on the side of his cheek. When Alfred asked about it, he mumbled something vague and incoherent, avoiding eye-contact. The American just shrugged. It almost looked like a fork had nailed him in the face…oh well.

Francis shoved Arthur into the room a few minutes after Mattie had left. He shouted a slur of curses after the Frenchman before turning on his heel. "Ah…Alfred." He nodded his greeting, taking a seat beside the American's bed. "How're you feeling?"

Alfred shrugged. "Hm…guess I'm fine. Broken bones and shit. All the usual. Mattie just visited, though. He's got holes in his face."

"Shit…Matthew…Maaattthheeww…? I swear I know that name."

Alfred just shrugged. As if Arthur would know who Canada was. He at least knew his full name was Matthew this time instead of 'Mattie'. It was sort of a rule of thumb that only _Alfred_ could call Canada _Mattie_, and only _Matthew_ could call America _Al _or _Alfie_. No one else on earth was close enough to them to give them a pet name like that.

The American weighed his choices as Arthur settled into his seat. He didn't want to straight up say that he didn't care for him like that… Instead…he should make sure that Arthur knew how close of friends Alfred considered them. But, still, he couldn't lead him on. "Um…I've gotta talk to you Artie…" he began hesitantly.

"About what?" the Brit said, leaning forward attentively.

"Um…" Alfred was lost for words. He'd had a plan a second ago, and he hadn't forgotten it…he was just second-guessing himself. "It…it's about Russia actually…" he continued, deciding to go with his gut.

England's bushy eye-brow quirked ominously. Alfred swallowed. He had to be careful walking out on thin ice like this. Artie still had some stigmas against Ivan… "Well, it's just that you're my best friend, and I can tell you anything…"

"I told you not to fuck him!"

"No!" Alfred waved his arms frantically. "No, that's not it…we…we never did anything like that. It's just…I…I get this weird feeling around him sometimes. Like…when he smiles a certain way, my stomach flops around and ah- I kinda get all bubbly…" God…he felt like a sappy teenage romance author.

Arthur looked at him seriously. "It's because you're fat. You should lose weight and stop eating food that doesn't agree with you," he suggested.

"No! It's not food! Jesus! I…I mean, I hate him so much, but I like being around him. Arthur, I think I like him again."

The Brit's face flushed a little and he set his lips tightly. "Ah…are you sure it's not indigestion?" he queried.

"I think I'd know the difference," Alfred snapped incredulously. "I mean…there's nothing wrong with it! We've been trying to improve our diplomatic relations for the past two decades…is it really so bad if I want things to be like they were before?"

Arthur frowned. "He hurt you, America. Have you forgotten?"

"I…need some time to think," Alfred decided. "Can you go talk to France for awhile? Tell him to shut up about you. The man rants about you all the fuckin time! He's freakin in love with you…"

England stormed out to find a certain Frenchman that was 'spreading hedonistic lies about their countries' relations'- or something along those lines.

…

…

Yao just laced his fingers together and listened to Ivan's stories of the time he spent in America. "You talk a lot about America, aru…" the Chinese man pointed out innocently. "Have you two been getting along?"

Ivan smiled. "Not at all! I just had a screaming match with him!" He said it as if it were a huge leap forward. "It was quite fun…"

Yao just grinned hesitantly. "So…wait…I'm confused, aru. Are you and America going to be friends again, or if not friends…then _what_? After everything that you two have gone through…it would be nice if we could all get along…"

…

The two former rivals sat back in their seats, wondering just when this all had started…

…

December, 1870  St. Petersburg, Russia

_Ivan sat with his hands in his lap, leaning against the fence around the statue of Peter I. It had been awhile since he'd come to Senate Square. Alfred had promised he would meet him there this day, but it was already dark, and the streetlamps had already been lit. It was snowing thickly, so he'd probably been delayed. _

_The dark masses of citizens cloaked in thick coats and furs, passed by on sleds or with tall boots. It was difficult to see faces in the faint lamplight. Ivan just fixed his ushanka on his head, and took a small metal gas lighter from his pocket. He flicked it on and ran it under his hands to warm them. _

_A horse-drawn sled passed, kicking up some snow in its wake. Ivan pulled his gloves back on and adjusted the collar of his coat. There was no point in waiting for the American any longer. If Alfred ever showed up, he could just come the few extra miles to Russia's home. He had no room to complain about the cold if he was going to be so late. _

_He stood and brushed the snow off his pants and shoulders. He tucked his scarf into his collar and started walking back down the stone road. _

_It had been a few years since he'd last seen Alfred. The American had told him to go home after his chest had split open during his Civil War. After that, the Russian had sort of kept to himself for awhile. He wasn't currently at war with anyone, and he could easily trade with his neighbors and allies. Things were too simple. _

_"Hey! Wait up!" A loud voice shouted in English. Ivan closed his eyes patiently and turned back around. Alfred was doing his best to run in the deep snow, carrying a large paper bundle. He was wearing a thick coat, hat and gloves, scarf, and tall snow boots. It was comical to watch him attempting to run. He caught up, gripping the Russian's shoulders for support and panting. "Sorry…I'm late…" he breathed, a little cloud of steam escaping his lips. "Here, I cut these for you…" He pushed the paper bundle into Ivan's hands. _

_Ivan put an arm around his back to keep him from falling over. Just how far did he run? He glanced down at the package in his hand; some yellow petals were sticking up at the top of the browned paper. He smiled warmly. _

_Alfred's cheeks flushed and he forced a shrug, "Ah...I figured the ones I gave you last time would be dead by now…"_

_Ivan just hugged the American closer and played with a lock of his hair. "Cпасибо…" he mumbled. _

_The first time Ivan had been to America's mainland to go hunting with him, he'd seen the sunny flowers. He'd dismounted the horse he'd been riding, and sat on the ground in front of the little patch of tall flowers. Alfred tried to get him to move, but they ended up sitting there for several hours, just staring at the sky, the trees, the grass, the clouds, talking about flying away. _

_It was such a small event in Alfred's eyes, but Ivan just wanted things to be that peaceful always. He wanted everyone to get along for once and stop pulling him into conflicts he didn't want a part of. So, every time he saw a sunflower, he felt a little bit calmer, less edgy and a bit more sane._

_Alfred didn't bother pulling back from the friendly embrace. At least it was warmer. "Um…I'm glad you like them," he mumbled, resting his chin on the Russian's shoulder. He'd never understand why such a plain flower had caught Ivan's attention. Maybe he was just so used to seeing them that he couldn't see their beauty anymore or something…_

_"How are you feeling?" Russia said carefully, gently gripping Alfred's side. The last time he'd left America, his ribs were cracked open, and he was almost split in two. He wouldn't have gone if Alfred hadn't insisted that he didn't want to be seen that way._

_The American didn't seem to understand the source of Ivan's worry. His eyes lit up a little under the dull lamplight. "Well, things have been pretty good I guess," he began. "Some of my Indian tribes are still revolting in the west, which is part of the reason I'm late…"_

_"You are very harsh on them," Ivan muttered, his accent thick. _

_Alfred just shrugged. "It's going to happen one way or another. It's my manifest destiny. The colonists discovered land, and it hasn't stopped since then. It's still the trend, push west, find land, get rid of the natives, and settle. I can't really help it."_

_Ivan just watched the teen talking. Their relations had only improved over the past century. Alfred was an interesting character, and he'd only built on that initial notion since the first day they'd met up in Alaska. The American didn't seem to be afraid of Russia. And, Ivan was starting to wonder if that childish stupidity was just a show. He'd seen the American with a serious expression and a look of contemplation. Intelligence looked nice on him, yet extremely unfitting. But, the Russian didn't underestimate the westerner for one second. America had a darker side. He had only __**just**__ outlawed slavery, and he was still at war with the natives of his land. _

_"You got your glasses back…" Ivan noted._

_Alfred just nodded and pushed them back up on his nose. "Yeah…I…um….I saw Will again…" he said carefully. _

_"He lives?" Ivan gaped, pulling back. _

_"He's human now," Alfred replied. "It…was peculiar..."_

_Ivan nodded. "I've seen it before. It is strange when the people we fight so hard to defeat become so weak…"_

_They stood in awkward silence for a moment. Alfred fixed his toboggan and rubbed his hands together to warm them. A little light of realization went off in his head, "Wait! I've got something new you've gotta try!" He tugged off a glove and dug around in his coat pocket. He took out a little paper wrapper. _

_"Alfred, vhat are you-"_

_"Damn…I ate the last piece…" the American muttered. "Wait, here…take mine." He plucked something off his tongue and held it out. _

_Ivan scrutinized the little wad in the American's fingers. "Vhat is it?" he said finally. _

_"Just chew it, it's good!"_

_Russia shrugged. He'd probably eaten things from much worse places. He took the American's hand and raised it to his mouth. He bit the object off his finger. He chewed, contemplating. It didn't taste __**bad**__. It didn't really taste like __**anything**__. "Vhat is it?" he repeated finally._

_Alfred grinned, "Bubble gum!"_

_"Vhy '__**bubble'**__?" the Russian mumbled, chewing in thought._

_"Lemme see it," the American said, holding his hand out. Ivan dropped the gum into his hand and Alfred popped it back in his mouth. "You can make it into a bubble with your tongue. We started selling this stuff back in America. Kids love it!" He blew a generous bubble and popped it with his finger. _

_Ivan just smirked and shook his head. "That's lovely, Amerika; you are quite talented. You are shivering, so shall we walk to my home?"_

_Alfred nodded, "That's a good idea…" He turned and started walking through the snow in the direction he knew Russia lived. He tugged his glove back on and Ivan followed. "So," the American said conversationally. "How have things been? I heard you were at momentary peace."_

_"Da, I've kept to myself for a few years, but I have to wonder how long it will last."_

_Alfred spun around on one foot, landing clumsily on the other. It was boring to just walk. "That's how peace works," he said logically, holding a finger up. "I mean, I'm not even a hundred yet, and I know things fall apart."_

_Ivan frowned. He hated how right Alfred was. Being a country was tough. You make friends, and go to war against them. You kill their people, they kill yours, someone gets all the blame…nobody ever forgets. _

_America must understand what it's like to go to war with a loved one…and have them become not-so-loved-anymore. He and England were still pretty tense. You couldn't get them in the same room without someone throwing something. Ivan knew that the Brit cried over his loss often, but he couldn't bring himself to pity the man. _

_Russia sort of hated all the western countries. They were all too pompous with their 'empires' and 'kingdoms'. He was being left in the dust industrially, and he didn't like it. They'd all fall one day, their revolutions and conquests would mean nothing when they were gone. And he planned to profit off their advancements. _

_Even America had grown a few inches since his Civil War had ended. _

_"Things move quickly in this world," Ivan muttered. "We can't be still and enjoy vhat we have. We always vant more. The Franco-Prussian war has forced me to modernize my army…but I hope not to utilize it."_

_Alfred just nodded. He could understand wanting peace for awhile. He'd been at constant war since the day he gained independence. But, it was partially his fault for pushing west…_

_The two walked on in silence. Alfred would stay for a few days, just to visit. "So…um…" the American began. "I heard that you and China have been getting along well…"_

_Ivan nodded. He wondered why Alfred sounded so tense. "__Дa… He has always been a very reasonable trading partner."_

_Alfred hmmed his response. He had become accustomed to being a country. It had taken about a century, but he was used to the bumbling meetings, the bickering, holding his own in a political argument, the grudges, the scams and frauds, the secrets…he was getting his reins on the ropes. _

_"Why do you ask?" Ivan wondered. _

_Alfred was staring off into the dull lamplight down the road. "Ah…oh, no reason. It's just…my brother just claimed his independence three years ago. I wanna make sure we get along…y'know? I guess I was wondering if you had any advice on making friends?"_

_Ivan just giggled and put on a smile. It was as if Alfred truly believed that Ivan was __**good**__ at making friends…_

_For the first time it dawned on him. Alfred must be different. Why hadn't he seen it before…?_

_..._

**Christmas 1916 ****Russian military barracks**

_Ivan carefully smoothed the American's messy sleep-hair while the other just sipped at some coffee. Alfred hadn't spoken much at all last night. It was worrying the Russian. The American was always a chatterbox whenever he came to visit, especially around this time of year. America celebrated his Christmas a few weeks earlier that Russia did, but he always came over and stayed with Ivan on Christmas Eve. _

_Ivan would still be on the battlefield as a soldier if it weren't for the holidays. They'd all called a momentary truce from the fighting to just enjoy their Christmas. _

_They had stayed in a military bunker a good distance behind the frontlines. There were minimal supplies, and everyone was bustling about, but at least it was better than sleeping in a frozen dugout with grenades and shells dropping around you. _

_The soldiers were grateful for the break, even if they knew they'd have to return to the frontlines in a few days. For now, the bunker was filled with singing, drinking, and storytelling. Everyone was just glad to be alive and warm around the fireplace. There weren't any festive decorations and the rations were just about as good as the ones on the field, but the warmth and lack of gunfire was very refreshing. _

_America just rubbed his hands on the sides of his mug to warm them and his eyes skimmed lazily over an old Russian newspaper that he couldn't read. _

_Alfred being quiet was __**unnatural**__. He was __**never**__ quiet…he always spoke with fervor. He always acted as if it were the last time they'd ever speak to one another. _

_Ivan frowned. With the way things were going, the day was coming when it really would be the last time… Just a few weeks ago, the Prince Yusupov had Rasputin killed, a strong leader of the Reds. Russia feared how this might anger the revolutionaries. It didn't help that he was already in war with Germany on his western front. _

_Why was there always such unrest? _

_Even the imperial army was unloyal. If the Reds put up a major rebellion and tried to overthrow Tsar Nicholas II, the White army would probably step back and watch…or maybe even join in. _

_Russia exhaled, watching his breath stick on the air and make little swirling clouds. If the Reds took over, he would become a communist country. It __**would**__ be nice… His people were unemployed, the banks were broke, and the social standards had past the point of being hierarchy and become a food chain. As a communist, everyone would have a job, there would be no need for banks, and everyone would have the same social standards…_

_The revolutionaries had so many good points. Their campaigns were so simple, but so true. Communism held what the people wanted and needed. It sounded perfect. _

_The only thing…_

_Was sitting right in front of him, leaning on an elbow and resting his chin in his palm. _

_Communism and Capitalism could __**never**__ co-exist peacefully. If Ivan became a communist socialist state, he would have to leave Alfred behind…possibly forever. _

_And that would hurt most of all. Ivan brushed a strand of hair away from Alfred's eye and ghosted his fingertips over the side of his cheek. America was his best friend. Alfred was his lover. If he became communist…he'd be pushing away his own happiness. But…he wanted communism…he wanted equality._

_He had never told the American how he really __**felt**__ for him. He always got the feeling that it would just be a burden on his mind if he knew. Things could be simple if there were no strings attached- nothing to be cut. But, if he told Alfred what he meant to him, then the relationship suddenly became something real and breakable. _

_Russia leaned up across the table, sliding a hand behind America's neck and tilting his head up. He brought their lips together in a soft open-mouthed kiss. They were chapped from the cold and dry from the lack of humidity. He quickly relished the taste of bitter coffee on Alfred's tongue before the American pushed him away. _

_Alfred's face was flushed and he was glancing around at the soldiers passing by, enjoying their time off. He knew the current stigma against homosexuals in the army, and he knew the soldiers wouldn't know it was socially acceptable since they were countries. _

_Ivan just smiled at him warmly, his hands resting over his gently. "You're awfully touchy today…" the American pointed out. _

_Ivan nodded, smiling still. "Of course. It is Christmas!"_

_Alfred gave him a skeptical look. He'd come all the way out here to the edge of the first World War just to spend his favorite holiday with the Russian. There were so many better places he could be right now. And now that he was here, Ivan was acting all tense and clingy. He hadn't let Alfred leave his sight since he'd gotten here. _

_The American set his bitter coffee back down onto the little wet ring it had already left on the newspaper. "Is this because of the war with Germany? …I can send some aid if you need it…"_

_Russia shook his head vehemently. "No, no…it's best if you stay out of it for as long as possible. It's not that anyvay."_

_"Then what's been buggin you?" Alfred demanded, fixing Ivan with a persistent stare. "Is it the anti-Semitism? I know you hate it when your people fight with themselves… You've been really uptight…"_

_Ivan wondered how to explain this. He was sort of stressed out over everything that was happening. "No, it's not that. Vell, that's not helping…but it…it's not that."_

_"Then what?_

_"Vell…I….I love you…" he admitted, fretfully turning a spoon around in his hands._

_Alfred's expression didn't change. He seemed to be absorbing it slowly. A slow sad smile spread over his lips. His fingers closed around his cup again. "Um…me too I guess…" he let out a stiff, brittle laugh. He'd sorta figured that this confession was coming, but it was hard to accept it gracefully._

_There was a sort of lightness in their chests, as if a weight had been lifted and they were free to float away. Ivan smiled. He wished they could find a secluded place, away from the eyes of his comrades. He wanted to show his affection freely, but there was no private place in the army. _

_It was probably for the best. Ivan had to remind himself of his country's position. "But…things are changing, Alfred. I feel so unsteady."_

_The American just nodded, gripping both hands onto his coffee cup. _

_Ivan closed his eyes and stared into the common room where the other soldiers were passing a jug of vodka and singing a festive tune. Things were going to be different soon. Something big was about to happen, and he couldn't let America be pulled into it yet. If he became communist, eventually, Alfred would intervene and try to stop him, but this was what he wanted. _

_He __**wanted**__ to have both…communism __**and**__ Alfred, but he had to choose, and as a country, he needed to do what he felt was best for his people. So, he should be ready. He needed to make sure that America stayed out of his life for a few years…he didn't want to fight with him yet…_

_"After this Christmas, I vant you to go home," he said firmly, sadly. _

_Alfred's shy smile dropped immediately. "W-what?"_

_Ivan swallowed, gritting his teeth. He __**hated**__ doing this… "You von't see me again afterwards…"_

_America stood angrily. "What the hell?" he shouted. Their argument was ignored. The Russians couldn't understand the English anyway. Alfred leaned over. "What is this?" he spat. "A joke? Are you teasing me? You __**just**__ said you loved me! Was that a lie? Why are you tellin' me ta leave?"_

_Ivan sighed. "I'm not telling you to leave. I'm simply warning you that you vill need to go home after my Christmas has passed…" he hesitated. God, this was tougher than he thought, looking up into the American's flushed, desperate expression. "…and when you leave…do not return again."_

_Alfred's cheeks were tinged dark red with anger. "Why?"_

_"I already said…" Ivan gritted out. It was already hard enough to say all this…Alfred was making it worse by making him repeat. "Times are changing in my country. I'm simply telling you dat I vill need some time alone to sort everything out. It does not change how I feel for you."_

_Alfred glared at him. "So…you're breaking up with me?"_

_Ivan frowned. "Yes...but it is not __**my**__ decision."_

_The American's head seemed close to exploding. "It doesn't seem like you're tryin very hard to fight whatever this is!" he huffed. _

_Ivan stood, putting a hand up and trying to calm him down. He wanted to say something, he just didn't know what. _

_Alfred cut him off before he could even try. "No…y'know what? I get it. It's fine. It makes sense. You haven't been yourself for the past few decades anyway… I've tried to ignore it, but it-it's fine. I'll go. Have fun by yourself." He turned for the door and stomped out into the forty-below blizzard._

_"__Прошу прощения…" __Ivan muttered miserably, hiding his face in his hands. "__Я хочу, чтобы ты знала…__r буду всегда любить тебя__…" _

* * *

><p>Translations<p>

Прошу прощения- I'm sorry

Я хочу, чтобы ты знала- I want you to know

Я буду всегда любить тебя -I will always love you

There're some others, but they're not really important. Things like 'yes' and 'thank you'.

* * *

><p><em>FINALLY~<em>

_My God. I've been busy lately, I joined 7 clubs at school, and I'm trying to keep straight A's and get my Gold award for scouts, and finish my book by December, and get my cosplays together for Halloween and con in January, and I'm trying to set up a panel at Ichiban, I went to a college fair, knitted a scarf, sent in my Gold paperwork, and wrote this long-ass chapter. _

_YOU ARE ALL WELCOME. Hopefully you like. 2 long history drabbles in there. BONUS. The next chapter should just be history drabbles- of my own making. Since SOMEONE went apeshit and sort of insulted my originality. Yeah…not quoting any more cool stories anymore since apparently that's NOT ALLOWED for a GOOD QUALITY story. _

_Anyway. Sorry about the wait. Tell me if you see any grammer mistakes. (I'm sure there are tons in that giant block of words)_


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